


All My Sleeves Are Stained Red

by itshysterekal



Series: No Peace in Quiet [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dismemberment, Implied Past Non-Con, M/M, Memory Issues, Minor Character Death, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Paparazzi, Sequel, Solitary Confinement, Sub Bucky Barnes, Sub Steve Rogers, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapists, Tony Stark's obsession with Bucky's metal arm, Touch-Starved Bucky Barnes, angsty awkward boners, being filmed without consent in private situations, deliberately unhelpful legal counsel, disgusting amounts of cuddling, hypnotic regression, incompetent medical care, nonconsensual medical treatment, past non-con (not stucky), police/military brutality, seriously neither of these two should be doing this, shrinkyclinks, terrible D/s practices, they have no idea what healthy BDSM looks like, they seriously don't know what they're doing, unfriendly protesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 21:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15373707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itshysterekal/pseuds/itshysterekal
Summary: “Oh, good. When I heard ‘unbalanced’ I thought they meant mentally, but this is much more fun,” Stark remarked with a half-baked gesture to Bucky’s stump.Bucky eyed him warily, wondering why he was suited up. Stark rolled his eyes. “Come on, this is a jail break. If we wait around much longer, it’s not going to work and then who’s going to buy the movie rights?”***In which the past catches up with the Winter Soldier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ***I am so, so sorry to the people subscribed to the series for the confusing email notifications. AO3 kept giving me connection closed/404 messages so i did not realize i was posting and saving about 500 drafts!***
> 
> Once again, i really only edited for spelling and a few continuity things. There's going to be at least one more part of this series depending on how much i can squeeze into it. It's also going to take a break for a few months because i've been neglecting my other two fandoms' WIPs and oh wow the guilt.
> 
> Please heed the tags. This one is a LOT darker than the last one. (Because it's me. I can't do more than like 500 consecutive words of fluff to save my life.) I've laid some definite groundwork for the rest of it, and i'm a mess but i'm trying my best. Groundwork like "How did Bucky become the Winter Soldier?" and "Was there still a Captain America if it wasn't Steve?" It's not 100% spelled out in this one, but you'll figure it out pretty easily.
> 
> Once again, the ending has obvious openings for the next part, but i would not classify it as a cliffhanger. All the big threads in this one are tied off.
> 
> Title from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z2gUYEhtBKg  
> (Originally by One Republic, but i prefer this cover. It's... uh... definitely from a dance vid that i'm using in the ballet!Bucky fic i have not finished or posted anywhere. Linking you to the vocal artist and not the dance though.)
> 
> Steve isn't performing at all in this fic, but i like to think this is the song he's working on throughout. Not the only one, but certainly the most important.

Bucky kept the memory of Steve’s lips on his as he rode the elevator to the top of Stark tower. He’d tried to downplay the severity of the crisis he was signing up for, but Steve could tell. Steve could always tell when Bucky was hiding something, it seemed like. It was annoying, but usually worked out for the best. Bucky was still trying to get over his instinct to protect Steve by keeping things from him- especially when those things were his own emotional distress. Steve _really_ hated when Bucky kept those kinds of things from him.

Today, Bucky’s distress wasn’t about his own baggage (which Steve was beginning to understand the depths of), but about a global threat they’d lost track of already. Granted, a large portion of that distress was over what was going to happen to Steve and therefore kind of related to his own baggage, but the point was that there was a demi-god who wanted to summon an army of aliens from the sky and somehow Bucky wasn’t supposed to act like this was anything other than another Friday. The floor counter hit ten and his brain flashed back to not quite two months ago. He woken to Steve’s lips on his and they’d both had not-great breath, but it had still been his favorite way to wake up. Things escalated until Bucky didn’t know whose hands were whose or where he ended and Steve began. Some people wouldn’t call the large portion of that day they spent in bed sex, but Bucky vaguely remembered having three separate orgasms, two for Steve, so he had decided it qualified. It wasn’t until later, when Steve was baking a small, round cake, that Bucky realized it was his own birthday. 

March tenth made a hell of an impression on him now, and it was more because of Steve than his own anniversary. 

Thankfully, the elevator finally came to a stop and he didn’t have enough time to get lost in that memory so thoroughly that he could forget the danger they were all in. Bucky did his best to look like he belonged, though it was difficult considering he was surrounded by agents like Romanoff and Barton who, while their training was similar to his, they actually knew what their skills sets were. There were the geniuses like Stark and Banner, Rhodes with his inspiring command of the Avengers and guns that literally came out of his back and fired over his shoulders (seriously, who did Bucky have to kill to get something that cool?). Then, of course, there was the _literal god_ Thor. 

“Coulson’s down,” Rhodes informed them all gravely. He waited for the information to sink in and then zeroed in on Bucky. “Had these on him, guess he didn’t get you to sign them after all.” 

Bucky’s eyes flicked to the bloodstained cards that scattered over the table and then back up. He’d caught a glimpse of someone wearing a flag-inspired uniform and didn’t want a good look. Something about it tickled unpleasantly at the edge of his memory and he didn’t want to know. Bucky liked Coulson. He’d immediately told Bucky how pleased he was to meet the man behind Captain America, not seeming to realize Bucky had no idea who they were talking about. He’d read the name in his file, but the details had been sparse. All he knew was that Cap- Cap sounded right, like something he might have called the guy instead of the whole “Captain America”- Cap was part of the Howling Commandos, had saved him from HYDRA, at least the first time, and then made the sacrifice play. Howard Stark had spent years looking for him, only to come up with the tesseract that his son had failed to protect after all these years. 

Yeah, they were fucking screwed. 

Bucky could smell the copper of the blood on the cards and heard the metal in his arm whir as his fingers locked into a fist. Coulson reminded Bucky of Steve’s fans and that meant Bucky liked Coulson. He hoped Coulson didn’t run a Captain America blog that would now sit abandoned like StevenGrantMeRogers, the fan who Steve had visited in a hospital a month before she passed away. Sometimes, when Bucky was feeling particularly masochistic, he’d scroll her blog and look at how much she loved Steve’s music, how grateful she was to be alive, and how angry she was to be sick. Bucky wasn’t dying (wasn’t even sure if he could), but he could relate to those posts on a level he couldn’t explain. His gratitude was more about Steve than living in general. And his anger was over his fucking brain, which was sick in a way. 

“So are we gonna kick this asshole back into space or just sit here crying?” Bucky demanded. 

Those who hadn’t yet grasped Bucky’s personality looked offended, but Agent Nat in particular seemed to grasp the secret grief he was hiding underneath the callousness. There was no need to worry about it though. A noise outside the building let them know they were no longer alone and they all charged into action, some heading for gear, others like Bucky heading to the window to see exactly what the threat was. Loki was outside, grinning maniacally, and Bucky was pretty sure that meant he was stalling. Whatever his plans, he had sought them out, which meant there was somewhere else he didn’t want them. 

He looked to Agent Nat. “He’s a distraction,” he told her. 

“Agreed,” she nodded. “Are you good keeping him that way?” 

Bucky gave her a wide-eyed look but nodded as if he wasn’t about to take on a fucking god. Thankfully, the suits were armoring up to join him. Barton joined Agent Nat and Bucky charged outside to make sure Loki didn’t notice them. He was immediately rewarded with some kind of energy blast. He dodged underneath, continuing his charge, and managing to get a solid blow into the god’s stomach. For a second, it seemed like it might work, but then the scepter was against his chest and he was filling up with a calm blue. The world became colored around the edges, and Bucky knew everything would be fine. Aliens weren’t a threat. Birthdays weren’t important. Music, Tumblr, trading cards that made his brain prickle… none of them mattered. The world was fine. Steve was safe. 

Steve. 

Metal fingers wrapped around the scepter, doing their best to crush the glowing blue part. Bucky did not manage to crush it, but he did provide a decent distraction so that Rhodes could get some shots in and Stark could knock Loki on his ass. 

Bucky stumbled back, feeling dizzy and nauseated. “What the fuck,” he panted, gagging on his own oxygen. Thor charged in, landing a mighty blow with his hammer just as he heard Agent Nat calling for backup. 

“We need brains over here!” she was yelling into the comms. “This thing is protected by some kind of shield!” 

“Barnes, get Banner,” Rhodes ordered. Bucky rushed inside and tried not to throw up as he headed for the lab. 

“Why the fuck isn’t Banner on comms?” he demanded. 

“Do you want the green guy to come out before we’re ready for him?” Barton threw back. 

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Bucky was stressed and he was pretty sure it’d be worse if he were stuck in a room just listening. Banner didn’t look surprised to see him and followed quickly as Bucky held the elevator. He might have been able to keep pace on the stair, but Banner wasn’t enhanced and there were a lot of floors between the basement lab and the half of the roof where Agent Nat had called for brains. 

When they got there, a man he assumed was Selvig was talking to them both. “Bruce, we’re gonna get Loki’s scepter. Can you work with Selvig on a way to shut this thing down?” 

Bucky had stopped paying attention. There was an energy beam going up from the contraption and where it hit the clouds a giant hole had opened up and _things_ were coming through. From this distance, it almost looked like a swarm of bugs crawling on the sky. “Pretty sure we’ve got other problems,” Bucky observed. 

“New plan,” Agent Nat improvised. “Rhodes! We need backup on the streets. Civilians are now in danger. We need Loki’s scepter to the opposite side of the building! Preferably without Loki attached!” 

With that, she and Barton took off with Bucky on their heels. Barton leapt onto the wall of the roof, shooting down aliens as they flew past (a phrase Bucky never wanted to think again) and Bucky held up his metal arm, making a two-fingered come-hither gesture that summoned the custom sniper rifle Stark had built him. He set up next to Barton, and they zippered their targets, wordlessly taking out every other one without even having to work it out with each other. 

Barton had forgiven Bucky a little too easily, and with the gentle ribbing any time Barton thought he could handle it, Bucky had managed to forgive himself. Bucky still hadn’t joined the Avengers, but he had gotten to go to the shooting range to learn from Arrow Guy. “Shoulder bothering you?” Bucky asked, a smirk on the edge of his mouth. 

“Not really,” Barton replied as he fired another alien into a downward spiral. “Why?” 

“Just wondering why you’re shooting like an old man!” 

“Holding back so I don’t embarrass the senior citizen with the metal arm!” 

Bucky snorted as he fired off a shot, managing to hit the alien about two centimeters to the right of the center of its forehead. “Nice try, but I’m embarrassed for your shooting! You should get a refund on that shoulder!” 

“Oh sh…”

Bucky pulled away from his scope to see what had Barton so distracted he couldn’t even cuss properly. “Fucking hell,” Bucky breathed. What he could only describe as a space-lizard-whale was coming out of the hole in the sky. “Stark! Are you seeing this?!” he yelled into his comm. 

“Seeing, still working on believing!” Stark called back and Bucky heard him asking his computer person for a weak spot. 

Bucky returned to his scope and picking off the little guys (fuck these were the _little_ guys) since it sounded like Stark was working out a plan. He suddenly thought of Steve, of where he was in the city, trying to calculate how far these assholes were from his boyfriend, whether they were headed toward him and how quickly. He missed a shot and Barton actually looked sideways at him. “Barnes?” 

Bucky gulped in a breath, glad there was too much going on for Barton to stop shooting for more than one look. “Queasy,” he replied in explanation. 

“Well, get over it, we’ve got bogeys!” 

Bucky zeroed in on the monsters and began to take them out like they had personally offended him. He was tense and couldn’t breathe, but it was a state that was becoming almost natural for him. He heard Stark say something about a party and smashing and wanted to look, but he was glued to his scope, taking out everything that was a threat. Suddenly, he saw Loki and immediately fired a bullet between his eyes. 

He… caught it. The bastard picked it out of the air like it was a falling leaf, looking at it for a moment before smiling fondly like it was a pretty gift. 

Bucky was glad for his metal arm that didn’t shake like the rest of him was doing now. The only bright side was that the bullet had provided just enough distracting for Barton to get an arrow into Loki’s shoulder. The green devil fell from his transport, though Bucky had a feeling he’d survive. There was no time to find out. He kept firing, getting a warning that his ammo was running low. Ignoring it, Bucky focused on taking them all out, one by one. 

He just wanted to get home to Steve. 

“Stark, you’ve got a lot of strays sniffing your tail,” Barton’s voice came over the comms. Bucky kept firing as the archer advised Stark to take advantage of their weakness for tight turns and then directed him to sixth avenue where apparently Rhodes and Agent Nat were pinned down. 

Bucky suddenly heard Banner on the comms. “Tony, we’ve got a way to shut this thing down, but there’s a nuke coming for the island of Manhattan…”

“What the hell?” Tony demanded, in a voice that Bucky was finally beginning to learn was just his personality, “Do I have to do everything around here?” 

Bucky’s gun ran out and he couldn’t loosen his grip on it. He heard them rattling off locations and calling for backup in spite of his heart pounding in his ears and finally managed to drop the gun onto the roof when Barton called out, “Barnes!” 

He stood shakily and ignored the unspoken question in Barton’s face. It was the question of whether or not Bucky was alright, and it wasn’t one he could give the right answer to. He gave a shaky, wide-eyed nod to the archer before hopping the lip of the roof and letting his arm slow his fall against the side of the building. His knees did not appreciate the landing, but he forced them into a run anyway as he sprinted for sixth avenue. 

Barreling onto the scene, Bucky managed to take one by surprise as his metal fist punctured its chest. He was definitely going to need to clean up really well before going home. He wondered if Stark had a place where he could just hose the fucking arm off. Hand to hand was not as effective as he wanted it to be, but it was all he had. Thor was taking them out easily, his hammer swinging impressively, occasionally conjuring lighting (seriously, it must be nice to have the literal power of a god), and Agent Nat was doing a lot of impressive acrobatics. Bucky understood why Steve called her fighting style “ninja stuff” now. If he hadn’t been under attack himself, he would have watched in awe as she took one out by jumping on its shoulders and breaking its neck with her thighs. Rhodes swept in with a rain of fire that took out a huge portion of them, but more were swarming as if they’d been ordered to converge on the Avengers (and Bucky, who still refused to think of himself as one of them). By the time the aliens all collapsed (in unison, like creepy horror-movie motherfuckers), Bucky was so weakened he fell to a knee with them. 

They all turned their attention to Stark, who was falling and “He’s not slowing down,” Thor observed. 

Suddenly, Banner (or whatever they called the green version of him) leapt into action, slowing Stark’s descent. They all went to meet at the landing point and Bucky was just in time to see Stark’s unmoving face and closed eyes. Green Banner roared and Stark startled to conscious, cursing and then saying, “What happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me.” His gaze fell on Bucky and he immediately said, “I’m telling Rogers.” 

“We won,” Bucky informed him, not dignifying the joke with a response. He knew Stark at least that well by now. 

“Oh, good, yay,” Stark replied unsteadily, drawing out the cheer at the end but not giving it too much volume. 

“Stark alive?” Barton’s voice came over the comms. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, cupcake,” Stark replied before letting his eyes fall shut. 

Yeah. Bucky could relate. Fuck this day. 

Stark was babbling about food until Thor reminded them they still had to take in his brother. The smaller god wasn’t even on his feet, crawling across the ground where Barton had managed to knock him earlier. Loki actually had the good sense to look scared as Barton nocked and arrow and drew back, aiming for his head. 

“Not so scary now, huh?” Bucky said, still feeling a little unsteady from the botched attempt at mind control. 

“Kind of pathetic,” Barton agreed. 

“Careful, Loki is still of Asgard. He is also my brother,” Thor warned. 

“This asshole just took out half the buildings in New York,” Bucky replied. 

“I’m adopted,” Loki smirked. 

So they found themselves saying goodbye to Thor as he took custody of Loki to bring him to Asgardian justice and, thankfully, they had nothing to do with the government so no one could claim they knew better than to give up a criminal without allowing their own people to try him. To Bucky’s great pleasure, Stark did have a room for hosing off suits and was more than happy to get the alien guts off Bucky’s arm for him. They ordered in, something called shwarma, and he ate about half of it before his worry over Steve made him too full to finish. 

“I heard he tried to scramble your egg,” Barton revealed confidentially, sitting next to Bucky on the couch. Bucky was slumped so far down that he could lay the remaining half of his wrap on his stomach without it rolling off. 

“Yeah, still feel a little like I might puke,” he confessed. 

“How come it didn’t work on you?” 

“Pal, my egg’s been scrambled so many times… Besides, it did work for a second. I’ve just got… a lot of practice resisting.” 

Barton let out a lungful and stared straight ahead. “I still don’t feel right,” he admitted just as Bucky scented the alcohol on his breath. 

“Hate to break it to you, Arrow Guy, but you ain’t ever gonna feel right again. You just get used to it.” 

“You’re shit at pep talks, Barnes.” 

“But I’m great at honesty talks,” he insisted. Bucky turned and gave Barton a hard look. “Barton. I’m not gonna lie to you, alright? That doesn’t help. If I tell you it’ll fade, you’re gonna wake up each morning wondering why you still feel like someone’s got their fingertip on the crown of your head. Someone else has had their nasty little fingers in your mind. That leaves a mark. You just gotta remember that’s all it is. You can feel it, and it’s touching you, but you’re in control. It ain’t connected to anyone but you now. You just gotta get used to this new part of you.” 

Barton gave him a tired look. “Well, that’s an improvement on you’re-never-gonna-feel-okay-again anyway.” 

“Here to help, pal.” 

Barton patted his knee before sinking into the couch properly. “So are we a club now?” 

“You’ll have to invite Agent Nat,” Bucky replied. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Probably a-“

They both sat up as the alarms went off and Stark’s computer person interrupted. “Mr. Stark, there are federal agents attempting to breach the building. They have expressed the intent to arrest Sergeant Barnes. I am uncertain what branch they represent, sir.” 

“Shit,” Clint, Agent Nat, and Bucky all swore in unison. 

Everyone sprang into action except Bucky who felt cold and immovable. This was everything he’d been afraid of. He and Steve had talked about this, but as the months went by and they heard nothing, he’d begun to think that maybe he’d proven himself. Maybe he’d be allowed to live in peace. 

No, they wanted something public, something the people could point to and say he was guilty because he either fought to avoid being taken or because he surrendered. He reached for his phone, but there was no service. Numbly, he looked around the room. Everyone seemed to have concluded (without him) that he should stay while they fought his battles. Well, he wasn’t going to let that happen. He just… wanted to hear Steve’s voice. Needed to. 

The hard line to Stark’s computer still had internet access. They must have only been scrambling the wireless signals. He pulled up Skype and tried to call Steve, but he didn’t answer. Hopefully, he was in the studio or resting. After Bucky’s text that he was alright, there was no longer a need to be glued to his phone. Bucky stared blankly at the screen for another moment before opening a video app. “Stevie,” he said, because he didn’t know what to say and all he knew was that he had to leave him a message- just in case. “I hope you’re resting. I’m sorry I… You’re gonna wake up without me. We knew this was a possibility. We talked about it. I guess we both thought maybe they wouldn’t do it on a day when I helped save the whole goddamn world, but here we are. We know people have their minds made up and whatever I do, it’s just gonna prove them right. So I’m not gonna fight. I’m not gonna give them any reason to go after you or- or-“ Bucky swallowed and looked away as he took a slow breath. “I’m gonna do everything I can to come home to you, pal. Just… do what we talked about. Ignore them. They’re gonna think what they want and say what they want and it doesn’t matter. Just remember the vultures don’t get to decide what happens to me. I l-“ Bucky felt his face crumble and stopped fighting his own emotions as they spilled out of his eyes. “I love you, Stevie, and I needed to be able to tell you that. Just in case. I’m so fucking sorry it had to be this way. They blocked all the cell phone service and I don’t know how long before they notice the landline or whatever they call the internet with a hard connection. I wanted to hear your voice, fuck, what if I never hear your voice again?” 

Bucky opened his mouth to say something else, but his throat was too tight so he just shook his head and turned off the recording. He tried to email it, but the file was too big. “Fuck,” he bit out, grasping at his anger and knowing the only way to be sure Steve would get his message was to make it public. He considered posting it to his Tumblr. Steve’s fans would download it, make sure it wasn’t lost, that it got to him. But they’d have to find it first and Bucky’s Tumblr only had a couple followers who were following enough people that his video would get lost. Bucky found Heather’s Tumblr. She had a Submit, so that’s what he would do. He uploaded it and typed a quick, “Don’t worry, I don’t show anything to Steve. I don’t know what else to do. Please get this to him. You have my permission to publish.” 

Bucky was going to throw up. It submitted and the data transfer must have set off some kind of alert because all of the power in Stark’s building went out at once. The computer person didn’t speak. Bucky could faintly hear the fighting outside. He hurled himself out the window, letting his arm slow his descent, hoping he’d be able to hear Stark complain about the repairs some day. 

“It’s okay,” he said to Agent Nat. The fighting slowly halted as they all realized he was surrendering. 

“It’s not fucking okay,” Barton bit out. “They have no right-!”

Bucky silenced him with the dead look in his eyes. “Whether I wanted to or not, I killed people. I never answered for that.” 

“Steve’s coming, you know he is,” Agent Nat pointed out. “Just wait for him, Barnes. He’ll have seen the news. Just wait until-“

“If I see him, I won’t be able to do this,” Bucky rasped out. “I sent him a message. He’ll… I hope he’ll get it.” 

He gently pushed the protective wall of superheroes between the agents and himself and was violently thrown onto his face, his arms wrenched behind his back and secured uncomfortably tight. He was impressed. The cuffs were something special, something that he wouldn’t be able to break out of, even with his arm. He could feel blood running from his nose, leaving a wet spot on his black shirt. There was already a throng of news vans, capturing his humiliation and he did his best not to care- until a car pulled up and Steve got out. He sprinted for Bucky and the ex-assassin forced himself not to look- until he heard a cry of pain. Steve was probably fine, but one of these douchebags had knocked him on his ass for trying to get through their perimeter. There was no need for that. They could have held him easily, without fucking hitting him. Bucky snapped, giving the news crews exactly what they came for: a violent maniac determined to take out the authorities who were probably well within their legal rights to arrest him. 

Even with his hands tied behind his back, Bucky managed to knock out two agents and break another’s leg before half a dozen of them had him pinned and were injecting him with something that drowned his anger and sent him underwater with it. 

Pain brought him out of it. He screamed, trying to get away, knowing he’d be punished for making a sound, but unable to stop. His shoulder was searing, they had something dug into the edge of metal as if they could pry the arm off that way. Why were they torturing him like this? Why were they damaging the arm? He screamed again, agony pouring out of him as they actually managed to rip it free, losing consciousness to a soundtrack of chaos and profanity- as if they hadn’t known what would happen, that his arm wasn’t just a prosthetic. As if the blood pouring from his shoulder was a surprise. 

Bucky came to in a cell, weak and in pain. He stared at the ceiling and tried to focus on anything but the dull stinging throb that used to be his left arm. Sure, he hadn’t had much feeling in it before, but this was something on a whole other level. Carefully, he turned to look. It was bandaged well. He couldn’t see any blood, so maybe it was healing. It didn’t feel like it was healing. It felt like he’d be better off dead. He heard a low, moaned cry and realized it was coming from his own throat. It didn’t sound like his voice. Everything felt fuzzy around the edges. Everything sounded wrong. 

Suddenly they were in the room with him, testing his vitals, poking and prodding. He swallowed any further noise and managed to hold still. The edges of his world blurred a little more, this time with tears. Somewhere deep down, the asset knew there was something good in this world and it had been taken from him. Deep down, he felt like he deserved more than this, like he was more than a machine to be pointed by a handler, like it wasn’t too much to ask for the pain to be replaced with something gentle. 

They changed his bandages without any fight from the Asset. He knew his place now. They had seen to that when they tore his arm from him. He wanted to ask what he had done wrong, but it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they had wiped it from him for a reason. He didn’t need to know anything, didn’t need to ask anything. He needed to accept once again that he was a machine, a tool to be used as his handler saw fit. If he could just accept that, they wouldn’t need to wipe him again and the painful Good Thing hovering on the edge of his consciousness would stop hurting. 

“Sergeant, are you with us?” one of them was asking. 

He blinked the tears from his eyes. “Ready to comply.” 

“Okay, that’s good. Can you sit up?” 

His body did not want to obey, but he forced it into an upright position. Before he could even register relief at what he’d managed, his body rebelled, forcing him to collapse sideways as he was wracked with dry heaves. Acid burned in his throat and he accidentally let out a sob. Desperate to comply, he tried to force himself upright again. He was off balance without his left arm, and his remaining muscles shook with fatigue and weakness. 

“Sergeant Barnes-“

The Asset didn’t understand why they were referring to him by a name, like he was some kind of person. He stopped caring as they laid him back and he was given nonverbal permission to stop forcing his body to follow orders it didn’t seem capable of executing. 

“Get me a goddamn sedative that can keep up with his metabolism,” his handler was saying. “And a drip with some kind of nutrients… Jesus fucking Christ. Did no one think to do an x-ray before messing with that prosthetic? Even when we execute these fuckers, we’re supposed to make it painless. All I can say is you better fix this before he gets a lawyer that hears about it.” 

He probably wasn’t supposed to be hearing this, but it didn’t matter. He was furniture. 

There was something about being treated like furniture…

Why was his mind so alert? Why was he so aware of how foggy he was? He shouldn’t be able to wonder or ask questions or wish away the pain. What was he supposed to do/ Someone needed to give him some goddamn orders. He couldn’t just lie there. He needed a mission. 

“M-mission?” he mumbled and that spurred another profane rant from his handler, but the words fuzzed around his ears and didn’t make enough sense through the haze. The Asset didn’t bother looking at the needle he felt in his arm. It wasn’t like he had a choice in anything anyway. His handler knew what was best. 

Blessed darkness took the pain and the questions. 


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky regained consciousness in a cell, with hazy memories of being Handled. Part of him expected a handler to be presenting him with a target, and part of him was trying to remember where he was and why. 

On realizing his arm was missing, it all came rushing back like the ground might if he’d jumped out of a train. He was reasonably sure he had the history to make that comparison, too. “Steve,” he breathed, needing the reassurance of someone who cared for him, knowing he couldn’t have it. “Where’s Steve?” It didn’t matter that there was no one there to answer his question.

Bucky choked back tears. He didn’t like this. He was humiliated by how close to the surface his emotions were. Everything about his physical and emotional state was raw with exhaustion, though at least the pain had faded. Small comforts. 

He might have to get used to small comforts again. 

The door opened and a man in a suit walked in. He didn’t exactly look happy to see Bucky, but at least he didn’t look like he was about to hurt the ex-assassin. “Sergeant Barnes. My name is Eric Hopman, and I’ve been assigned to your defense.” 

Bucky looked at the man like he was speaking another language. “Thanks,” he mumbled and forced himself to sit up. It was difficult and he felt shaky, but he managed to swing his legs to the floor and sit up- though he was hunched forward to lean heavily with his knees on his elbows. 

“No need to thank me,” he replied and Bucky would’ve appreciated it if he hadn’t added, “Not like anyone volunteered.” 

Bucky clenched his jaw. “Do I get a phone call?” 

“No,” Hopman replied curtly. “Frankly, your case is pretty hopeless. There have been some leaked HYDRA documents proving that you were the one who committed at least two or three dozen high profile murders over the years, so it’s pretty open and shut. The trial’s a formality. There’s enough to give you the death penalty twenty times over.” 

Bucky didn’t respond immediately. He wished he’d never met Steve. Maybe Bucky deserved this, though he was finally starting to believe he didn’t, but Steve definitely didn’t. Steve didn’t deserve to have his heart ripped out by everyone he fell in love with in new and different ways every time. “And if I want to fight it?” 

“Son, you killed-“

“Not willingly,” Bucky cut him off viciously. He was angry now. “You’re supposed to be my defense, so act like it!” 

“Barnes, you’re a dead man walking. I’m here because they couldn’t rope anyone else into it. No one wants to lose, and even less people want to see a monster like you go free.” 

Bucky glared at him. “I’ve met monsters. I ain’t one of ‘em.” 

Hopman scoffed. “Yeah, a kill list that long, you’re a real damn saint.” 

“No, we can agree I ain’t a saint, asshole. But I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to have my arm ripped off, I don’t deserve to be locked up. I was finally getting my life back after decades of torture you can’t even imagine, and now I’ve got some asshole telling me he’s my _defender_ like he isn’t pulling the kill switch in his head. I’m real fucking tired of trying to come up with reasons I deserve to have my life ripped away over and over. I’m even more tired of having people who don’t know _shit_ about me acting like they got a right to decide what I am and what should be done with me.” 

“So, what? You want to plead not guilty?” 

“Or insanity, what the fuck ever kind of plea means those fuckers reprogrammed my brain so that I had no control over my own body- because I didn’t. I was a good person. I had a life. I had a team of doctors helped me get that shit out of my head so I could finally be a person again. That’s all I want. I just want to be left alone, live with the person I’m in love with… Grow old with him, if I can.” 

“You expect me to believe you had no choice? Look, they tortured you. I get it. You still had a choice. Coulda killed yourself or something.” 

Bucky actually laughed. Fuck, he might be crying, too. This was the biggest pile of bullshit he’d ever stepped in. “I want to talk to Rhodes. Stark. I refuse to believe you’re the best defense I can get.” 

The guy had the nerve to look offended. “I’ll have you know I’m a decorated-“

“I don’t fucking care, asshole. I want someone who will do his fucking job and defend me. Or is that the whole reason I got you? Because the fuckers upstairs know that if I get a real defender I’ll maybe do something about the fact that you assholes almost killed me before I even got to talk to anyone? What exactly is the legality for ripping someone’s arm off when they’re in custody?” That at least seemed to make the guy uncomfortable. So Bucky had gotten that right, at least. “So you guys fucked up and now you’re stacking the deck against me, right? Do I even get to know who’s holding me because it sure ain’t any organization I’ve ever heard of.” 

“If we fucked up, it was by not getting you sooner,” he snarled, getting defensive. If Bucky hadn’t been weakened and lacking any form of weaponry (and his fucking arm) he would’ve liked it. As it was, his heart actually skipped a beat in fear. Fuck, he was afraid of _this asshole_. “You’re being held by the Union National Initiative for Threat Elimination.” 

“Yeah, I’m real fucking threatening, saving New York from aliens,” he griped, trying not to let on that he was nervous. “The Avengers sure think I’m a goddamn menace, that’s why Rhodes let his little nephews treat me like a jungle gym last month.” 

If he hadn’t been so scared, Bucky might’ve felt warm at that memory (or even the fact that he had memories now- that was still novel). He’d probably never want kids of his own, but he did like kids. Something about how they looked at his arm like it was cool, like he wasn’t something to be afraid of, was a feeling he liked. Bucky’s grumpy demeanor seemed to draw kids in. They could tell he was secretly pleased by their antics, and he could tell they were pleased by his sarcasm and pretend annoyance. He was gonna miss those kids. 

“You are a goddamn menace,” Hopman snarled. 

Bucky shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t have the energy to waste on trying to convince this asshole he wasn’t Evil Incarnate. “I’m an American citizen. I served my country. I have rights, and I want an attorney who doesn’t want to see me fried. My current C.O. is Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes of the US Air Force and I will not accept any charges or make any pleas until I see him.” 

Bucky didn’t actually know what his rights were, but apparently he’d said something right. Hopman didn’t say another word before getting up and leaving. Even if Bucky didn’t get to see Rhodes or a new attorney, at least he didn’t have that asshole in his face anymore. 

Gingerly, he laid himself back down on his side, sliding backward until the cold of the wall was at his back. He gripped the thin hospital scrub right over his heart, trying to pretend that the solid presence on his back was Steve, that the hand on his chest was too. It might have worked if he wasn’t so fucking cold and if the wall wasn’t so damn hard. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine what Steve would say to him now. 

They’d agreed that it wasn’t worth their time to try to change minds that were made up. He’d wasted his time on Hopman and wouldn’t do it again. Bucky didn’t want to talk about his trauma. He didn’t want to talk about how he couldn’t remember his mother’s name or Captain America, the man who had apparently been his best friend during the war. He didn’t want to talk about what it was like to remember doing something he would never do, to have nightmares about choices someone else made for him, to be completely incapacitated by a few spoken syllables- or sung ones. 

He was so fucking angry. 

Normally, Bucky was good at accepting that his life was a piece of shit where the storm kept on whipping back, but not when he was tired and weak and alone with his thoughts. Not when he was trying to pretend a concrete wall was a source of comfort. Not when he’d gotten used to actual comfort, to having people who cared about him. He didn’t know if he could survive this again. A person could only have everything ripped away, a person could only be broken so many times before they couldn’t be put back together. 

By the time the door to his cell opened again, he didn’t bother looking. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Exhaustion slowed him, but he did look when he realized it was Rhodes. He was taking Bucky in, and he was appalled. “Don’t tell Steve,” was all he could think to say. 

Rhodes let out a heavy sigh and pulled up the chair from the corner. “Barnes, we’ve been trying to get to you for two weeks now.” 

He nodded, wondering how long he’d been conscious. “They tried to give me an attorney that wants me to lose.” 

“Yeah, we had a feeling things weren’t going well, but… What happened to your arm?” 

“They… took it,” he replied carefully. 

“Yeah, and how’d that go for you?” 

“Hurt,” he replied simply. 

Rhodes shook his head and it actually helped to see someone upset over him. He didn’t like upsetting people, and he didn’t like that he was enjoying it even a little, but fuck it felt good just the same. “We’re fighting for you,” Rhodes promised. “That video you sent out won you some support, and Steve’s been doing interviews. The rest of us too, but people are really going all in with Steve.” 

“People love a good love story,” Bucky shrugged. 

“Something like that, yeah. Pretty clear why it’s been so hard to get to you now. Can you tell me about the arm?” 

“They… took it?” 

“I mean like how,” Rhodes clarified. “You said it hurt. Did they not use anesthetic? I’m not saying the courts are subject to popular opinion, but public opinion can definitely get you a better lawyer and they’re going to want some transparency if they’re invested in you- which, a lot of them are starting to get there. Even if they’re not all invested in a positive way.” 

Bucky turned those words over in his head. Yeah, he could picture assholes like Hopman demanding transparency if he were (by some miracle) acquitted. “Anesthetic,” he echoed in confusion. Oh, Rhodes thought they’d done some kind of surgery. He smiled grimly. “They only use anesthetic if they think they’re doing a surgery. These assholes thought it was a prosthetic. Pried it off without even looking to see it was attached to more than just skin.” 

Rhodes looked sick but nodded. “Tony has some basic scans he did before gutting it. We’ll publish those along with some of the old specs. Show how easy it is to see that your arm was… your arm.” 

Bucky nodded. “Guess he’ll get the chance to start from scratch like he wanted in the first place.” 

Rhodes looked as tired as Bucky felt. “It’s good to see you, Barnes. It’s good to hear you making jokes. Just don’t forget we’re fighting for you, alright? All of us.” He glanced to the side as if checking the door before leaning in and lowering his voice. “You’re not dying for this, okay? Whatever happens, we’re not going to let them take you.” 

Bucky’s eyes widened. Was Rhodes saying what it sounded like? If this went south, were they talking jailbreak? As if reading his mind, Rhodes gave him a small nod and leaned back. Bucky suddenly felt a lot sturdier. “You’re all doing an awful lot for someone who ain’t even one of you,” Bucky teased him. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Barnes,” Rhodes rolled his eyes. “We all know you’re an Avenger even if you won’t formally accept the role.” 

Bucky smiled a little as they shared a moment. He grew serious again, knowing their time was probably running out, and needing to know one thing for certain. “How is Steve? I know he’s doing the interviews, but…”

Rhodes sighed. “Hard to tell with him. He’s holding up.” 

Bucky nodded. That sounded like Steve. That little punk could run on rage and spunk alone. Bucky just wished he didn’t have to. “Tell him- tell everyone, thank you. Tell them I’m holding up.” 

With a nod and a pat on the knee, Rhodes got up. “Tony’s getting you a real lawyer. It’s just been a lot of bureaucracy to get him in here. They’re doing their best to throw every roadblock they can at us… I think I’m beginning to see why.” 

Bucky gave him a weak smile, trying to be encouraging, and sort of feeling successful. “Thanks, Rhodes.” 

With another nod, the Lieutenant Colonel turned to knock on the door to be let out. “When was the last time the sergeant was fed?” he asked immediately and Bucky couldn’t hide his smile at the look of panic on the guard’s face as he spluttered out some kind of platitude. 

A hot bowl of soup arrived shortly after Rhodes left and things began to look up a bit. 

Things began to improve a bit after Rhodes had gotten in that first time. Bucky still had no idea what was going on outside his cell, but it had to be something because suddenly he had a proper blanket and meals often enough that he didn’t feel painfully hungry all the time. The lights in his cell never dimmed or went out, so he didn’t know how much time was passing, but other than that, things were going well. 

He antagonized the psychologist they sent to him- probably not one of his brighter ideas- but it had been painfully obvious the doctor was of the same mindset as Hopman and wasn’t ready to hear anything he had to say. Bucky probably wouldn’t believe it if he hadn’t lived it anyway. The kinds of things HYDRA did to him didn’t make sense, and he didn’t want to believe they were possible. Hell, maybe they weren’t possible. Maybe the serum he’d been given had fundamentally changed not just his body, but his brain. 

Bucky wondered if Stark had sent him a blind lawyer on purpose, as if to make some kind of point about missing something physical. Maybe Bucky was just reading that in by himself. He missed his arm, but was genuinely starting to wonder if he really needed a new one. 

“Alright, so we’ve seen the report from the UNITE psych eval,” Murdoch began, as if Bucky knew what they were talking about. “It doesn’t look good, but we’re pushing to get our own doctor in. It’s pretty clear UNITE isn’t doing you any favors, not that you’re making it hard for them. Did you really tell their psychologist to eat a bag of dicks?” 

Bucky smirked and, as if he could see it, Murdoch added, “Never mind. Look, we’re getting someone in and we need you to be as honest as you can with them. No sarcasm, no asshole comments. Just the truth. They won’t share any details they don’t have to. There’ll be a formal opinion on whether or not you should be held responsible for the charges they’re bringing. I’ll be honest, Barnes, you’ll probably have to talk about it on the witness stand. But that’s months away. We can figure out between now and then what to say and what can be left out. No one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but you might have to make some choices between privacy and freedom.” 

Bucky nodded. “Can they hear us in here?” he asked. 

“Probably.” 

“There’s just… there’s stuff I don’t feel safe having people know about me,” was all he could think to say without giving up too much. “HYDRA could literally control me. Most of that stuff’s gone, but there are still a few ways to hurt me if someone has the right intel. I… honestly, even admitting that…”

Murdoch nodded, sensing Bucky’s distress. “Then that’s one of the things we’ll figure out how to leave out,” he promised. Bucky appreciated his candor, the way he said they’d figure out how to leave it out, not trying to convince him that it could be. They both knew the only way he got out of this legally was to prove he could be controlled as easily as a machine. 

“Your psychologist…”

“Will be thoroughly vetted. And we’ll insist on inspecting your interview room to make sure it’s secure. Just because you’re on trial doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be safe during and after it.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky replied, his voice tight. 

“We’re in your corner, Barnes,” Murdoch confirmed and Bucky really felt like it was true. “We’re going to get you through this.” 

True to his word, Murdoch had arranged for Bucky to meet a different psychiatrist in a neutral location. He was a little on edge at being moved after so long in his cell, but mostly he was thrilled. Seeing something besides blank walls (or at least different blank walls) was a gift he wouldn’t want to give back. 

Samson was a breath of fresh air, too. Apparently he was a friend of Banner’s. Bucky smiled a little to himself to note that not only did he have a compatriot in the long hair club, but the doctor’s was _green_. He could just imagine the faces of all these strict government assholes at the sight of this shrink with his long, dyed hair. The mental image was so good, not even the doctor’s opening line could bring him down. “So, tell me what it’s like to lose control.” 

Bucky took a moment to gather himself. Thankfully, he was calm and for whatever reason, he felt safe with this guy, in this room that had been swept by his people. Slowly, he began to describe the fog to the doctor, answered his questions about what his memories were like of those times. He was thrown only when the doctor asked what his memories were like before the control. “I don’t… have them,” Bucky confessed. “I… what I know about my life before HYDRA, it’s all just stuff I’ve read. Sometimes I get… impressions, flashes. Nothing that means anything.” 

“Does that bother you?” 

“When I can’t manage to ignore it,” Bucky acknowledged. 

“Why do you ignore it?” 

Bucky shrugged, finally starting to feel a little uncomfortable. Samson waited patiently so Bucky sighed in an effort to dispel his agitation. “I don’t like feeling broken,” he finally said. 

“You don’t seem broken to me.” 

Bucky shook his head. “Maybe not, but my brain is. It doesn’t work like brains are supposed to work. I can’t get to parts of it. I have this constant fear that there was something or someone important that is just gone. What if I promised someone I’d see something or read something? I mean, sure, they’re dead so they won’t know the difference, but I should. I should know if I’ve broken promises or missed something I always wanted to do. I should remember what my favorite color was or my own fucking birthday. HYDRA can drop me with a word. I can’t listen to the radio because I have this… we call it my ‘trigger song.’” 

“What does that mean?” 

Bucky swallowed. This was getting difficult now. The easy feeling was evaporating. “It’s a song that one of my handlers would play on repeat while torturing me. Any time it plays, I… it’s not a flashback, it’s worse. I’ve been reading about flashbacks, and that’s not what happens to me. I get locked inside my own head, like when they use the right words, but worse. I can literally feel the scalpels. It’s like drowning but without the relief of death.” 

Samson sat a little straighter. “When you say relief…”

“Relax, I ain’t about to kill myself,” Bucky assured him. “I just mean… I don’t know what I mean.” 

He realized in that moment that it was true. Bucky wasn’t sure what it meant that he thought death might be a relief. “I don’t want to die,” he decided. “Not just because of the people who care about me. Because I care about them. Because I like having them and being around them. I like fighting with the Avengers- though maybe I’ll pass on the next alien invasion- and I like- I love Steve. I love him. I feel like I’m worth a damn when he looks at me, like maybe I can be a person again.” 

Samson took in what Bucky was saying and the ex-assassin could almost hear the gears grinding in his head. “You’re implying you didn’t feel like a person before.” 

Bucky scoffed a little. “People have free will, thoughts. The closest thing I had to a concept of myself when I was the Asset was the mission. All I knew was success and failure. Success meant I got a nice, cold nap in cryo and failure meant punishment.” 

“Okay, Bucky,” Samson nodded, and he already knew before the doctor said it that they were going somewhere uncomfortable. “I’m going to ask because I have to, and I won’t put it in my report. This is just for my information, so I know how to help. Were these punishments all the same? Did they involve scalpels and beatings? Were any of them psychological or sexual in nature?” 

Bucky shrugged with an unsteady breath. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “I don’t remember a lot of it. They wiped my mind a lot, doc. So maybe that counts for psychological torture. If they ever raped me, it didn’t exactly leave a lasting impression.” 

“Okay,” was the only acknowledgment, almost frustrating in its neutrality. 

“Look, doc, I’m sure somebody touched me at some point, but I don’t remember it and it doesn’t affect me. I don’t want to create issues where there aren’t any.” 

“That’s a very healthy approach,” he agreed. “I wasn’t suggesting anything else needed to be done or said on the topic. Is there a reason you thought I might?” 

Bucky sighed. This was exactly the kind of psychobabble he liked to avoid. “I mean, it’s just another shitstain on the pile of crap. My body’s been used without my permission for a lot of things I don’t like, plenty of which I can’t remember. They said I offed Kennedy, and I never knew for certain because _I don’t remember_. That’s what bothers me. I don’t like not knowing. I used to think the worst part was remembering the look in people’s eyes right before I ended them, but it might really be the not knowing. At least when I have the nightmares, I know what happened. The rest of it? It’s just a giant question mark, a what if, what if I did something worse than I already have?” 

Samson considered him for a long moment. “I’d like to try something, if you’re willing.” 

“Ominous.” 

“Hypnosis,” he clarified. “A sort-of regression. Hypnosis isn’t like the movies. It can’t force you to do anything you wouldn’t otherwise do. It alters your mental state much in the way alcohol does. It lowers your inhibitions, leaves you open to suggestion, but you are aware enough to say no. If, for example, I asked you to stand on one leg, you likely would. If I asked you to jump out a window, you likely would not.” 

Bucky wasn’t so sure about this. The doctor clearly understood just how little he’d like any kind of plan that involved himself being _open to suggestion_ or that _altered his mental state_. Still, this guy was a friend of Banner’s and Bucky was supposed to be doing his best here. “Okay,” he mumbled, though he had about three hundred different misgivings about agreeing to this. 

“You don’t need to lie down or watch a pendulum. Just close your eyes and get comfortable, okay?” Samson said and Bucky did his best to get comfortable as the doctor started talking him through relaxation techniques, waiting for some kind of sign, he guessed. Suddenly, the suggestions changed, his environment changed. 

Bucky looked around. There were trees, a campfire. People sat around it and Bucky zeroed in on the guy with the red hair. He remembered that hair, and now he could see the face that went inside it. He walked curiously toward them, ignoring the odd sound of metallic scraping. What were sounds like those doing out in the forest? There were ten of them there, and his attention didn’t linger on any one of them for too long- except for Cap. Bucky’s eye was immediately drawn to the bright costume and he stumbled toward the figure. 

“Hey, soldier,” Cap smiled and Bucky stared in awe as she removed the helmet. Captain America was a she. Maybe if he’d ever spoken about Cap to anyone they might have corrected him on that point. Her dark hair curled around her shoulders and her smile felt like a soft, warm blanket. Bucky remembered her. She was important. She was as important to him as Steve and that thought horrified him back into reality. 

She was as important to him as Steve was, yet he had no idea what her name was. Bucky felt sick to know that she had been taken from him. He swallowed thickly and looked at Samson. “Never again,” he said, refusing to disclose any of what he’d seen. Maybe it was best that Cap’s memory was too faded to hurt. She was dead, after all. Bucky had Steve and he never wanted to let go of him. If he suddenly started to remember Cap, what would that mean for his relationship with Steve? 

Bucky did his best to be forthright with the doctor about everything else, to bite down on the defensive sarcasm as the questions grew deeper and more probing and personal. He’d known it wouldn’t be pleasant, but he hadn’t expected such a powerful desire to take a shower after. Thankfully, Samson actually managed to convince the guards to let him. 

After all the talk of his body and what it had done without his say, Bucky felt especially vulnerable. He didn’t like that he was being guarded. Sure, they weren’t looking at him, but he didn’t have so much as a curtain while he showered. He’d felt naked like this in front of Samson despite his clothes, but at least he trusted Samson. Bucky was suddenly painfully aware of the strangers standing guard over him and how little he knew about them or their intentions. 

The bandages had come off what was left of his arm two days ago and, for the first time, Bucky let his fingers trace the gnarled flesh. 

The guards pretended nothing was happening when Bucky fell to his knees, crying silently for everything that had ever been taken from him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Because Bucky could never have anything he wanted, he dreamed of Cap. He dreamed of a woman he knew nothing about, of holding her the way Steve held him. The worst part was waking to find himself hard. He thought about touching himself, getting rid of it the easy way, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It already felt like he’d betrayed Steve just by accidentally seeing her in a memory. To get off because he dreamed about her… that was too much to take. 

Bucky squeezed himself so hard it brought tears to his eyes, but it also sent his dick limp. 

It kept happening almost every time he slept to the point where, before going to sleep, Bucky would turn toward the wall (it gave him some illusion of privacy) and touched himself to thoughts of Steve, determined to get it out of his system so that it wouldn’t happen when he woke up. Unfortunately for him, he had a super soldier body, which meant his body did whatever the fuck it wanted with or without his permission. 

Fucking asshole body. 

Fucking asshole brain. 

If it would stop making him dream about Cap, maybe he could stop worrying about Steve. He loved Steve. He was attracted to Steve. There was nothing wrong with his relationship to Steve… except that his fucking subconscious was determined to convince him that he was in love with a woman who’d been dead for decades whose name he didn’t even know. The worst part was that, even in the dreams where they were intimate, they didn’t do much. Cap was always clothed. Bucky never lost more than his shirt. They didn’t have sex in these dreams, so why the hell did he wake up so turned on? The cuddling was nice. It was really great of his subconscious to recognize how badly he needed a fucking cuddle locked up alone in a cell with his arm ripped off, but it should be giving him _Steve_.

He was in the middle of some Very Important Brooding when they came for him. Bucky resisted the urge to fight until he was brought to a room with what looked like a Chair, capital C, Chair. Immediately, his fight response kicked in and he did his best to get away. They’d prepared for this though, five guys on him (with no metal arm to keep his balance like he was used to) and a sedative that lasted just long enough for them to strap him in so tight he could feel his arm and ribs bruising. 

“Why are you doing this?” he moaned. His head was fuzzy with drugs, which was only preferable to fuzzy with HYDRA programming. 

“Where is the translator?” someone demanded off to the side. 

“I speak English, you don’t need a translator to tell me which of my rights you’re breaking by-“

Someone actually hit him. Bucky was quiet after that, even though he probably shouldn’t have been. He could recognize when he was powerless and his pride wasn’t worth the energy. Until he saw a red book in the corner of his eye. Immediately, adrenaline flooded his system and he began to fight the restraints. 

“If he’s not actually afraid of what’s in the book, he’s putting on a good act,” someone commented and he thrashed harder. 

“They’re out of my system,” he pleaded. “The list doesn’t control me anymore-! Where the fuck did you get that book?!” 

They were right about him being afraid. The book had more than just that list. It had notes on how to program him, probably any remaining trigger words like, “ _Sputnik_.”

Fuck. F-

His brain fuzzed out. He was almost aware of pain, of the numb aching that came with being beaten. It stopped getting worse, so it was safe to assume they’d convinced themselves that his off-switch worked. Bucky didn’t know how long they left him under before they figured out how to bring him out of it. He didn’t feel the urge to kill anyone, which meant he had at least three active triggers: the one that shut him off, the one that turned him back on, and the one that made him kill his allies. 

“Did it work?” someone was asking. 

Yeah, he could see how they’d be uncertain if his eyes looked as dead as he felt. Maybe he could have said something to indicate his awareness, or maybe he could’ve avoided it out of spite. Bucky simply stared ahead silently- not out of spite, simply because he had nothing left. 

Weren’t these supposed to be the good guys? 

“The readings say normal,” someone else added. 

A tear tickled at the corner of his eye and he blinked it away. He should probably be angry, furious even, that these people thought they were doing something good by torturing him this way, but all he felt was empty. They were arguing now about fixing him before his lawyers heard about it, about why they should have to fix him at all after what he did, about why they even had to bother proving whether or not he was telling the truth about his programming. 

_Kill me._

Judging by the sudden silence and unfamiliar face in his line of sight, he’d said it out loud. “So you are in there,” the woman said. He forced his eyes up to meet hers and at least she had the decency to look ashamed of what they were doing. Quickly, she moved away to continue whatever Good Work they thought they were doing. Bucky ignored them. 

At least he didn’t have any more dreams about Cap. He did dream about fog and killing and an entire town on fire. Had he done that? There was a crying child at his feet, bleeding from the head. 

Bucky woke violently, lashing out and feeling his hand caught by someone else. He wanted to say something snarky like _I thought you were blind_ , but he didn’t have it in him to speak, let alone make jokes. 

For some reason he was sitting, and he made no move to change that, but he did scoot back on the cot until his back was against the wall. Bucky pulled his knees into his chest, not caring if Murdoch could see it or not. “They actually tested it, didn’t they?” the attorney demanded angrily. Bucky’s lack of response didn’t seem to matter. “We got the report that confirmed they found information confirming what HYDRA did, but… Jesus.” 

Bucky wished he would go away. He didn’t want people around. He didn’t even want himself around. He just wanted everything to stop. “Okay, I think we can get you moved, at least. I won’t even bother to ask if you consented to that kind of experiment. The fact that they’re experimenting on you alone is enough to-“

“Just let them have me,” Bucky interrupted, his voice raw. 

“Barnes-“

“Just… forget it.” 

Bucky didn’t bother to watch Murdoch formulate his response. He didn’t care. “Bucky,” Murdoch said, gently, and fuck if that wasn’t the worst thing he could have done. “What they did to you- what they’re doing here, it’s not okay. It’s not legal or moral in the least. I promised you we were gonna get you out of here, and I’m keeping that promise.” 

“Yeah, well, I release you,” Bucky replied. “There’s no point. Just let them fucking have me.” All he was ever going to be was a tool that people could use when and however they wanted. Murdoch was speaking to someone through the door, something about “Tell Karen to set you an extra place, it’s gonna be a long night,” and Bucky was ignoring both of them. The sooner all these people who cared about him figured out that there was no way to get him out, the better off they’d all be. HYDRA, the US government, there was no difference. They all wanted an expert killer they could control with an easy command. It was efficient, foolproof. Bucky was the perfect tool and they weren’t going to give him up. 

Murdoch sat down again, cane balanced neatly over his knees in a way that made Bucky want to scream. How could he act like this was normal? “I know how things seem in here,” Murdoch began slowly, “but I promise things are not nearly as bleak outside. In here, everything is one-sided. There’s plenty of people outside who agree with the people torturing you in here, but there’s also plenty of people showing support. Steve held a rally in Brooklyn three days ago that shut down half a mile of city street. The vast majority of people there were on your side.” 

“Yeah, and how many counter protests?” Bucky asked wearily. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Murdoch insisted and Bucky didn’t care if he was right or not. “They’re wrong.” 

“Not that I don’t appreciate the pep talk, but I just want to be alone,” Bucky replied. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“What the fuck am I gonna do in here?” Bucky demanded. “Can’t hurt myself, can’t hurt anyone else-! At least if I’m fucking alone, I don’t gotta worry about who’s gonna do what to me!” 

Patiently, Murdoch asked, “You done?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and let his head hit the concrete wall behind him as he looked up, like it might keep the tears in his eyes. “I’m so far beyond done,” he agreed. 

“Then you won’t mind if I say a few things,” Murdoch replied as if they both didn’t know Bucky would _absolutely mind_ anything but being left alone. “You are hurting yourself in this cell. Maybe not physically, but you are. You’re hurting everyone who cares about you by giving up. Somehow you’ve convinced yourself that you deserve what’s happening to you, maybe it makes it easier to accept, I don’t know. I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through, Bucky. What I know is no one deserves torture, no matter what they’ve done. I’m also very sure that you deserve better. You didn’t fight those aliens to make yourself look good. You saved the world because that’s what your heart said to do.” 

“I saved Steve,” Bucky grumbled. “Fuck the world.” 

“And what do you think’s going to happen to Steve if you never come out of here?” 

“Can you please, _please_ just fuck off?” 

“What do you think is going to happen to-“

“He’s gonna fucking break!” Bucky snapped. “What the hell do you want me to do? What the hell is drawing it out gonna accomplish? You think it’s gonna make it any better for him to know I fought tooth and nail and got fried anyway? Worse, these fuckers probably don’t even want me dead. You think they had a legal interest in proving I still have active triggers? These fuckers want me for the same reason HYDRA did: I’m a goddamn perfect killing machine.” 

“Your other triggers were eradicated,” Murdoch pointed out. “Once we can eliminate the others, you’ll be in control. The only way you become a killing machine is when you have no choice, Bucky.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ve played this game longer than you have, pal. Let me tell ya, choice isn’t a thing I get.” 

“The law- hang on.” 

Murdoch got up to answer the knock at the door, exchanging some heated words with whoever was outside about paperwork being in order, and filing complaints about torture… the words _cruel and unusual_ were thrown out and Bucky could have laughed. This was practically a spa day for him and unusual? Unusual would be if they let him go now that they knew what they could use him for. 

The commotion only got louder when Murdoch stepped outside, but the cell was impressively insulated. He could absolutely hear raised voices, but they were muffled and incomprehensible. Then, there was the unmistakable sound of fighting and Bucky was on his feet, eyes wide. He was just about to try the handle in case Murdoch needed help, when it swung open and narrowly missed the ex-assassin. 

“Oh, good. When I heard ‘unbalanced’ I thought they meant mentally, but this is much more fun,” Stark remarked with a half-baked gesture to Bucky’s stump. 

Bucky eyed him warily, wondering why he was suited up. Stark rolled his eyes. “Come on, this is a jail break. If we wait around much longer, it’s not going to work and then who’s going to buy the movie rights?” 

Bucky still didn’t completely understand what was happening or why. Finally, Stark just grabbed him and dragged him along. “Where’s Murdoch?” Bucky asked. 

“He went on ahead,” Tony replied. “Backup’s still out front, but I could get to you, so I did.” 

“Why?” Bucky asked, unable to stop himself. 

“Look, Barnes. Are you really gonna make me say it? Of course you are. You’re part of the team, okay? In Murdoch’s professional opinion, these guys were killing you. So, the team’s here to save you.” 

“Save me,” Bucky echoed. He hit the suit hard to get Stark to stop. “If you want to save me, we can’t leave here without the book.” 

“We’ll get you whatever book you want, Buckwheat, but first-“

“It’s a book with my triggers,” Bucky insisted. “Red, star on the cover. The only way to save me is to make me useless to them, okay?” 

Hope was rising in his chest and he only resented it a little. The billionaire set him down now that he realized Bucky wasn’t going to fight him on leaving and they raided the lab where Bucky had last seen the book to no avail. It was a long shot that they would have left it there anyway. Stark insisted on checking offices until he found one with a safe, blasting it without hesitation so that its door swung almost comically open and then shut from the impact. Tony grabbed the entire contents (which included the book, holy shit!) and handed it to Bucky before leading the way back out. True to his word, the rest of the team was holding the perimeter around a car. Agent Nat was in the backseat and he recognized Barton’s hairline behind the wheel. Hulk and Rhodes were at either end, antagonizing some very harried looking military men as Bucky stumbled into the car uncertainly. There were news vans and it was almost comforting to see that now-familiar staple of his landscape in the periphery. Two of them followed the car (as close as the two iron flyers and Hulk would allow), but the others appeared to be on their phones, so Bucky could only conclude that more would be waiting at the tower. 

“So. You okay?” Agent Nat asked, her voice calm and business-as-usual. 

Bucky took a breath to try to match her evenness. “Not really,” he admitted. “But maybe I can be.” 

Carefully, he lowered the files he had in his death grip to his lap, his heart beating a sickening percussion at the sight of the notebook. “Red never has been a good color for things,” she observed, attention zeroed in on his response to it. 

“This is it,” he said, feeling a little light headed. “This is everything they did to me.” 

“Good,” she said. “That should help us undo it. What’s the rest of it?” 

Bucky paged through the files. They were written in Cyrillic. “I only speak it,” he admitted bashfully, passing her the files. 

“Names,” she informed him as she looked at the labels on the tabs and then she opened one. Bucky recognized the cryo chamber immediately and had an extremely negative response to the face inside. It wasn’t his own, but he knew instinctively that it was a super soldier. He had to look away and catch his breath as if the man had been physically present in the car. Why would Bucky be scared of another super soldier? It looked like that man had been treated the same way he had. 

The streets were blissfully empty of people as their super-powered escorts cleared the way. Hulk especially seemed good at repelling civilians. 

“Did you know?” Nat finally broke him out of his reverie. 

“I get a general no-good vibe about that guy’s face,” Bucky told her. “Other than that, I have nothing.” 

“You weren’t the only Winter Soldier,” she told him. “There were others. These files… they were all Winter Soldiers.” 

Bucky shivered as if the mention of the name could actually evoke the cold season it contained. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point between having handed her the files and getting thrown by seeing the familiar-unfamiliar face, he’d tucked his feet up under himself. Awkwardly, he reached to brush his soles off. Bucky hadn’t even realized he was barefoot until it occurred to him that the dirt he’d picked up was now getting on the seat of this pristine car. 

“Bucky, this is huge,” she told him and he forced himself to look at her. Everything about those files made him anxious. “If we can find these people-“

“No,” he said, unable to explain why his heart was pounding. “I don’t… They’re not… I don’t remember, but I really don’t think they’re… good.” 

“Plenty of people feel that way about you,” she reminded him gently. “And they’re wrong.” 

Bucky didn’t argue. She wanted to help, she was trying to help. It wasn’t her fault that he didn’t have the memories to back him up. All he had was a feeling. A really sick, really foreboding feeling. At least Agent Nat thought he was good. That’s what he wanted to be. The trouble was that you couldn’t assign a moral alignment to a tool. It was whatever its wielder was. 

“Thanks,” he replied quietly and tried not to worry about what she was thinking as she read the files. Would it be anything like what they did to him? Would she look at him differently if she knew? Probably not, he decided. Agent Nat had been controlled too. She might not have been controlled in the same way, but she knew at least something of what it meant. 

By the time they arrived at the tower, protesters had already assembled with the news vans. Maybe they’d been there the whole time. Anything was possible. If there was a place to protest Bucky Barnes, it was probably Avengers Tower. Nat tried to stop him from looking, but Bucky needed to know. He’d been on the internet in his life. He knew how ugly people could be. Most of them were some variation on “murderer” but there were a few surprise homophobic protesters. He wondered if his being in love with a man was their only concern or if that problem was just somehow worse than literal murder to these assholes. 

They started swarming the car, but a roar warned them to back off as Hulk charged them. Bucky was a little afraid too- but not of Hulk. These people _hated_ him. “The Avengers are in deep shit for this already, aren’t they,” he said flatly, no question inflected in the statement in spite of the phrasing. 

“Not a single one of us gives a damn,” Agent Nat replied easily. “We saw something wrong. We made it right. That’s what the Avengers are all about. Or something.” 

Bucky snorted, but he was too nervous to be properly amused. Clint pulled up to the front sidewalk while the flyers kept it clear of the protesters. “Once we’re inside, it’s all cake,” she promised. “Tony and Rhodes will make sure Clint gets from here to the garage to the roof.” 

“Is there a reason we can’t go to the garage? Isn’t it connected to the building?” Bucky asked faintly. 

“Yeah, and we can do that if you really want to. But this is faster and more public.” 

“I don’t see how the public part is a good thing.” 

She glanced casually out the window. “This may come as a shock to you, Barnes, but you look like absolute, complete, utter shit. Literally, I’ve scraped nicer looking gunk off my shoes.” 

“Thanks?” 

“Which is exactly what those news crews are going to film when you get out. If you want to back out, we will, but it’s only going to help you to let the world see that those fuckers literally _ripped your arm off_. I’m serious. Barnes, you look like you were tortured.” 

“Yeah, well, feel like I was too,” he admitted quietly. 

She didn’t touch him and he wasn’t sure if he appreciated her hands-off approach to comfort or not. He’d spent so much time cuddling up to a fucking concrete wall that even a quick pat might undo him. “Just let us know what you want to do, Barnes. We’ll do whatever you need.” 

He let out a huff of air. He didn’t want to do this, be seen so weak and (apparently) disgusting. Then again, she was right. Letting people see just how bad he looked would win some support for his friends’ extrajudicial decisions. They broke him out. They deserved whatever he could give them in terms of public justification. Right? 

Before he could change his mind, Bucky reached for the door handle. “Just don’t let any of them talk to me. I don’t trust myself to not make things worse.” 

“You got it,” she agreed and gave Clint a pat on the shoulder before scooting toward the door as Bucky got out. He couldn’t help the nervous glance at all the protesters or the way he wanted to throw up at the thought of being filmed like this. God, everyone was going to see him at one of his weakest moments. Then he looked to the entrance of the Tower and gave a weak smile. 

“Sam,” he said, even though the man wouldn’t be able to hear him from the other end of the gauntlet- especially not over the shouting which had grown exponentially. He winced as his bare foot stepped on a rock and Nat reached out a steadying hand as he reached instinctively with his missing left and overbalanced slightly. “Well, you wanted me to look pathetic,” he muttered. 

“I like the anger,” she smirked, barely moving her lips. “That alone- even if I didn’t know you, I’d believe it.” 

“Yeah. Good. Great.” He glanced up at Stark and Rhodes, blasters poised in warning instead of threat, and Hulk with his fists out like he was just waiting for an excuse to smash. And then back to Sam, who was looking over his shoulder and then being shoved out of the way. 

_Steve._

Everything else dropped away and Bucky stumbled forward, not realizing until he felt the impact that he’d fallen to his knees. “Steve,” he uttered, worshipping the blond with his eyes until his face was smashed into his stomach. Bucky wrapped his arm around his boyfriend, crying actual tears as he breathed in his scent. He could feel the soft tickle of Steve crying into his scalp, and Bucky wondered briefly if this hadn’t been part of the plan- getting their reunion on camera- but he didn’t fucking care. “Steve,” he repeated, because it was the most coherent thought in his brain. 

“I’m right here,” Steve promised, voice rough with emotion, and Bucky let out a sob that wracked his entire frame. It had been too long since he’d seen natural light, since someone had been gentle with him, and most importantly- since he had heard Steve’s voice. 

“I didn’t think I was ever gonna see you again,” he admitted. 

Steve squeezed him so tight it almost hurt. It was perfect. “I’m right here, and neither of us is going anywhere. Except maybe inside. Pretty sure your superheroes are gonna run out of patience with these protesters eventually.” 

As if on cue, Agent Nat approached and had to help Bucky up. Everything was too much, and he was unsteady with exactly how much had happened. He’d been ready to die that morning and now Steve’s arm was around his waist. There were other Winter Soldiers that he had to talk Agent Nat out of finding, that he knew were extremely bad news even if he couldn’t prove it. Bucky accidentally looked at one of the cameras and then looked away in fear. What were they going to say about him? They could call him weak. He didn’t care about that. But what if they said something true? Something he was already afraid of? Like the fact that his friends had risked their own freedom just to bust him out of jail? That he was selfish, that he should never have let them…? What if they turned their attention to his relationship with Steve? They’d already hinted that they thought he was a danger to the musician. 

Once they were inside, Bucky looked longingly at the sofa, but apparently they were not destined to meet that day. They had clearly all made this plan, so who was Bucky to argue? Steve and Agent Nat stayed with him all the way up to his apartment on the 17th floor (Stark thought he was funny joking that it was so Bucky would remember his birthday, and was embarrassed when Bucky revealed that he might actually need the reminder- a thing which he would continue to allow Stark to believe was the truth because it was funny to watch him squirm) where he finally got to befriend a couch. Steve immediately curled into his left side and Bucky reached over to hug him. Agent Nat took up a chair and seemed completely unfazed by Steve’s sudden move to connect himself and Bucky at the lips. Bucky was fazed, but in a good way. He felt like he might cry again. 

“No one’s taking you from me ever again,” Steve promised when they finally broke apart- and Bucky believed him. 

“Yeah, same for us,” Agent Nat agreed casually. She was perusing the files again and Bucky knew he was going to have to do something about that- but later, because the rest of the Avengers were arriving to his apartment and he wasn’t about to kick a single one of them out. Sam piled onto the couch on Bucky’s other side and he reluctantly unwrapped himself from Steve. He continued to lean into the blond, but he wouldn’t allow himself to be closed off to the friends who had just possibly saved his life. 

“So you’re gonna let me build you a new arm, right? From scratch? I’ve been working on the haptics,” Stark said in lieu of a greeting as he walked in, suit removing itself without its wearer paying it any mind. 

“What the hell did they do to your arm anyway?” Sam demanded. 

Bucky should have probably been more upset, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about anything with Steve’s warmth pressed into his side, close enough that he could smell him. In fact, he was pretty sure he could smell Steve on the couch, like he’d been staying in Bucky’s apartment. “They thought it was a prosthetic,” Bucky replied absently. “You’ve been living in the tower?” 

“Safer,” Steve confirmed during the pause while Sam processed the other part of what he said before clarifying, “They didn’t figure out it was attached?” 

Bucky sighed, unable to look at Steve. “Yeah, they figured it out. When they ripped it off and I almost bled out. Murdoch thinks he can put together a case against the state for how they handl- dealt with me.” 

Bucky didn’t want to think about handlers right now. He wanted to think about Steve’s almost-too-tight grip on his waist and the fact that his apartment now smelled like his boyfriend. Apparently Steve wasn’t the only one who hadn’t known the gory details of how he’d lost the arm, since at least half the faces in the room were now appalled. He gave them an abbreviated version once it became obvious that the questions weren’t going to stop, and Steve got up halfway through to make the brunet a bowl of cereal, though Bucky suspected it had more to do with the conversation than how “skinny” he felt in the blond’s arms. 

Still, the food did help him feel a bit steadier. Maybe Steve hadn’t been wrong. Bucky had missed a meal that day, which wasn’t normally a problem, but they were feeding him meals engineered for regular soldiers- not super soldiers with ungodly metabolisms. Bucky knew he’d lost weight in there, but he hadn’t realized how much else until now. They were making plans, talking legal and tactical so rapidly that Bucky lost the thread of the conversation. He leaned his head against Steve’s, feeling the tickle of that blond hair against his cheek and let his eyes close as he tried to catch up on what was being said. 

Finally, he heard Agent Nat’s voice. “Maybe we should pick this up tomorrow.” 

“What are you talking about? We just-“ Stark stopped speaking abruptly and Bucky cracked an eye open to see the majority of the room staring at him. “Well, if snugglebunny over here was ready for a nap, why didn’t he just say so?” 

“I’m listening,” Bucky insisted, though his words came out mumbled and he probably wouldn’t have believed himself either. 

They each said goodnight as they got up to leave and Agent Nat actually kissed his head, though it wasn’t weird. “I redesigned security, so they won’t be able to turn the lights off again,” Stark promised. “I’ll tell you about it over a new arm.” 

Bucky smiled gratefully and thanked each of them before finally it was just Steve and himself. He buried his nose in the musician’s neck and breathed in deep, before letting out a breathy, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” Steve rained kisses along the side of his head and Bucky gently traced his side with the one hand he had left. “You okay to move to the bed or you want to stay on the couch tonight?” Steve asked. 

“Bed,” Bucky decided easily. If he had his way, they weren’t exactly going to need the space, but it would still be better than the couch. Steve helped him up, though Bucky didn’t need quite as much aid as he had earlier, and Bucky probably didn’t need to lean in as much as he did, but neither of them seemed ready to say anything against it. 

Steve tucked him in and then climbed in after him, spooning up behind the brunet. Bucky wasn’t having that, though. He turned in Steve’s arms and kissed him. Neither of them said anything, only continued to kiss a little more desperately until there was nowhere to go except apart. Leaning their foreheads together, Bucky planted another quick peck on Steve’s lips as they caught their breath, silently basking in the other’s presence. 

They took turns placing small, gentle kisses that became less pressing, less frequent, until finally they were both asleep. There were no alarms set to wake them and no one disrupted them the next morning, so even when Bucky woke first, he was perfectly content to remain exactly where he was and pretend to sleep even once Steve woke up. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, this chapter contains a very, very bad example of how to kink. Do not, do NOT look here for inspiration. This is a nearly complete checklist of what NOT to do. All involved parties (except poor JARVIS, forced to witness all things) are consenting adults, but that does not mean they are making good choices. Please take care of yourselves, friends.

Bucky and Steve spent two full days ignoring the world in his apartment. The only time they weren’t curled up together somewhere was when one of them had to use the bathroom- and when Bucky realized just how disgusting he actually was and had a shower and a shave. The water had actually run a little cloudy for the first minute or so in spite of the shower he’d had at the facility. Then again, he didn’t know how long it had been between them triggering him and Murdoch showing up to decide it was time for the jailbreak. Maybe they should have been banging each other’s brains out during those two days (Bucky had always heard a lot about reunion/breakup/etc sex), but neither of them were interested in anything beyond the shared space and comfort. It was the reminder that Steve was solid and real and with him, and apparently his body needed to believe it as much as his mind. They tried to play a few rounds of cards, but neither of them wanted to get far enough to not see the other’s hand and could only successfully avoid looking for so long. They tried a few rounds of the hippo game, but that was also difficult- even turning the board so that they each had a hippo in a corner. The marbles ended up on the opposite side of the board from both of them too often and, by the third time, Bucky took to kissing Steve until they rolled back. By the fifth, Steve took to tilting the board so they stayed right where they were. 

All told, Bucky looked far better than Stark when he had Bucky come down to the lab on day three. “Did you sleep?” Bucky asked, unable to hide his concern. 

“Too busy,” Stark replied, gesturing impatiently for Bucky to sit. 

Well, he knew what Stark was like when he was into a project. He’d wanted to rebuild Bucky’s arm from scratch the first time he’d seen it and being told that it was already in his arm in ways that couldn’t be removed had about crushed his dreams. Hadn’t stopped him from taking about six hundred scans, learning everything about it, and then rebuilding as much as he could. 

“So we’re not doing the thing where it’s connected to your nervous system like the last one,” Stark rambled, forgetting Bucky hadn’t actually known a lot of specifics about _how_ the arm worked so much as that it did. With a sharp sting, Stark injected something into Bucky’s neck. He reached up to rub it and saw movement in the corner of his eye. “Good! It works!” 

It was… an arm. It even looked like an arm. It wasn’t fleshy or anything. It was still made of metal. It didn’t have overlarge muscles or a red star painted on the side, and that was all he really wanted. Bucky touched the blank shoulder, not even realizing how much he’d hated the brand before. “Yeah, though it was time to take HYDRA’s name off your tag,” Stark agreed before grabbing some tools. “Don’t touch it yet. There’s a harness to help distribute the weight and it needs to be fitted properly. Should already be there, but there’s a few tiny adjustments… tell me if it pinches anything important, that kind of thing.” 

Bucky nodded. He caught a glimpse of Stark’s computer as he crossed back to the work table. His face was clearly visible, streaked with tears, replaced by that of an indignant-looking news anchor. “What are they saying?” he asked with a nod to the screen. 

“I’ve been told you are under no circumstances allowed to watch news footage,” Stark replied as he tugged at Bucky’s shirt before grabbing something with straps and belting. A little quiver of something ran through him that might have been fear, but it also might have been something else he couldn’t quite identify. He was actually excited to see the harness that would make it so he could make just about any choice he wanted in regards to his arm. They wouldn’t have to worry about shutdown protocols and system overrides because Bucky could just take the damn thing off if he had to. 

“Alright, but have you been told I can’t be told about news footage?” Bucky tried. “What if I just _listen_ to it?” 

Stark snorted a little and waited as Bucky removed his shirt. He didn’t even look for Stark’s reaction because he knew the man was too analytical, too concerned with how to make things fit and work, to actually stare or make Bucky feel self-conscious about the gnarly state of his shoulder. “Well, we’re going to fix that up right now,” Stark muttered and Bucky gave him a questioning look. “Those morons had no idea what they were doing. Hang on.” With a few gestures, Tony had scans of Bucky’s shoulder projected into the air between them, gesturing with far too much energy for someone who probably hadn’t slept in three days. “I already knew they had no idea what they were doing, but this is seriously disgraceful. They trimmed some of the wires so they wouldn’t poke through your skin, but they left this whole mess behind. See right here, where the A-7 wire is tangled around your shoulder joint?” 

“Ah, yes. The good old A-7,” Bucky nodded sagely. 

“Okay, wise-ass,” Stark rolled his eyes. “Anyway, it’s a mess in there and it’s only going to get worse if I don’t clean it up.” 

“You…? Are going to… clean it up?” Bucky asked uncertainly. 

“Relax, Barnes. I’ve got some numbing stuff so you won’t feel it. These hands have built far more delicate machines than a shoulder.” 

“How many did they break on the way there?” he countered. 

Tony’s eyes widened marginally in a way that did not make Bucky feel any better, but Stark could play him almost as well as Steve. “So you wanted to listen to the news you aren’t allowed to watch?” 

Bucky nodded. “I know you’re misdirecting me.” 

“But is it working?” 

“Only because I’m letting it.” 

“Good.” 

The billionaire turned up the volume without even bothering to interrogate Bucky on his coping skills, which he was immensely grateful for. The more time he spent around Stark, the more he started to like the man. They fell into an easy silence as Stark applied some kind of cold (and then nothing) jelly to his stump and Bucky shut his eyes, not wanting to watch. 

_It seems clear to me that this is just some kind of publicity stunt. I mean, if Hawkeye can go in the back door, why can’t the Winter Soldier?_

**Exactly! That’s exactly what I’ve been saying, Martha! They take off the prosthetic to try to get some veteran sympathies- and that whole running-into-the-arms-of-his-sin-partner? An obvious ploy to try to convince us he’s some kind of hero returning from the war.**

_Oh, my gosh, do not get me started. James Barnes is a cold-blooded killer. He’s obviously a master of deception- how else could he manage to avoid being caught for so long otherwise?”_

**Exactly! And the only reason we caught him at all was because some True Blooded American Hero leaked those documents!**

_Steven, that is just such an excellent point. This man- if you even want to call him that- would have probably gone on killing and burning villages to the ground._

**You’re absolutely right, Martha. Which brings us to our first guest. Mai was four years old when the Winter Soldier attacked her village. Dozens were killed, houses were burned, her parents were killed right in front of her.**

Bucky’s eyes cracked open. He tried not to betray the sudden concern he felt. There was a dream he’d had about a little kid, burning buildings…

_So, Mai. I know this story must be difficult for you, even two decades after the fact. What can you tell us about the attack?_

Well, I was very young, so it’s a little disjointed. I remember men breaking down our door-

_Men? More than one_

Yes. The thing no one seems to be reporting is that James Barnes was not the only Winter Soldier. There were several of them, but I can’t say for sure how many. It was… a long time ago.

**Why haven’t you come forward before**

The Winter Soldiers are ghosts. As you were discussing earlier, the only reason James Barnes has been caught is that documents were leaked.

_But did your government have nothing to say about an entire village being attacked so viciously?_

You’d think we didn’t exist- a self-deprecating chuckle -I can’t tell you what happened. I’ve tried to find out since I was old enough to wonder, but the information is very hard to come by- especially when you’re not completely sure where you are from.

_Why can’t you tell us what happened?_ That was the voice of someone asking questions they already knew the answer to. Which meant Bucky wasn’t going to like the majority of this interview. 

Someone took me away. I was too scared and too small to fight, but it was good that I didn’t. He saw what happened to my parents and he saved me. He brought me to a family in Primorye where I was raised until we moved to America.

**Lucky that there was someone there to stand up against those monsters.**

Yes, I was very lucky. I still have nightmares about that day, even though I can’t fully remember it. A Winter Soldier, standing over me. I cried when he hit me. I thought for certain I was going to die that day.

_I can’t even begin to imagine how horrible that must have been._

I suppose it could have been worse. I’m alive, after all. Most of the others are not.

_Thank you so much for sharing your story, Mai. We’ll talk some more after the break._

Bucky realized Stark was watching him and Bucky probably looked as horrified as he felt. “Do I need to turn it off?” Stark asked. 

Bucky shook his head. “Can you… I need to see her face.” 

Stark shut down. “Even I’m not that stupid, Barnes.” 

“Then tell me if she had a scar,” Bucky insisted. “On her forehead. Her right side. Stark, I need to know. I need to know if it was me.” 

“I’m turning it off,” the billionaire insisted, and did just that. “Now, you can lie back and let me fix this shoulder, or I can get Steve to come down and sit on you.” 

Bucky should have made a joke about Steve sitting on him, but hearing that story had unsettled him far more than he’d anticipated. Stark could tell, too. In spite of Bucky’s compliance, Steve showed up about ten minutes after Stark had done what Bucky now realized was sending a text. Quietly, Steve’s hand slipped into Bucky’s and the horror melted just slightly as Steve began asking questions about Bucky’s arm. 

“Definitely want to take it off to sleep, let the skin get a little air,” Stark replied. “Doesn’t need to be plugged in to charge or anything because I built it, so obviously. “We’ll fit the arm tomorrow. Give you twenty-four hours recovery time for your impromptu surgery. Don’t look.” 

Bucky didn’t, but he grimaced anyway. “What the hell-?”

It felt like a tiny saw was grinding against his shoulder and Steve looked ready to puke. It stopped, but there was still a numb tingling of aftershocks. “It was wrapped around, I had to pull it out eventually,” Stark justified. Well, if Stark had just pulled a wire out of his arm like some kind of tape worm, that would explain Steve’s face. “So, can I put this out there? Seriously, part of that was close to what looks like an artery. They could have killed you. Again. Almost a second time. Seriously, is there anyone at that UNITE facility that has any freaking idea what they’re doing?” 

Bucky let out a weak laugh and Stark stabbed him unnecessarily with the scalpel. “Didn’t feel that? Good.” With a small heat gun, he cauterized the incision. “Take one asthmatic and call me in the morning. Maybe, like, drink some water. I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.” 

Bucky didn’t dare mention to Steve what Stark had let him listen to, though it seemed unfair to let him think he was just upset about the arm- especially when Steve seemed so determined to kiss it better. “You okay?” he asked quietly, once they were alone in the elevator and he’d pressed a long, slow kiss to the brunet’s lips. 

Bucky nodded, even if it was a lie. But having Steve think he had to help in some way would only make it worse. The only thing he could think of that would help was doing something for Steve. Bucky felt like a constant drain on his boyfriend, like he took far more than he could ever give back- especially now, with all this bullshit… He was afraid to find out what kind of interviews Steve had done while he was locked up- Steve who hated interviews, let alone being public about anything related to his private life. 

The urge to protect, to pay him back, to do anything and everything for Steve he possibly could overwhelmed the ex-assassin. He took control, pressing Steve against the elevator and kissing him hard. He pulled away, worried even though Steve had a dazed but somehow still good expression on his face. “Is this okay?” he asked uncertainly. 

‘Uh huh,” Steve agreed, and Bucky wondered if he should be worried about just how out of it Steve seemed. 

“Are you sure, Stevie? We don’t have to do anything…”

“I want whatever you want,” Steve promised. He reached for Bucky’s hip and pulled their bodies together, looking up at Bucky in a way that made him shiver. 

The elevator came to a stop and several seconds passed while it waited for them to get out. Bucky stared at Steve, reminding himself that Steve had confessed to liking some level of abuse. Bucky could never do that to him, not to an extent that Steve actually hurt, but he was pretty sure he could be at least a little rough. Without warning, he pulled Steve out of the elevator, grip loose so that Steve could stop him if he wanted, but he didn’t seem to want to. They got into the apartment and Bucky stopped holding back, shoving Steve down onto the couch and kissing him for all he was worth. He slipped his hand just under Steve’s shirt for the skin contact and broke away to check in again. “Are you sure?” 

“Bucky, I love you and I trust you,” Steve promised. 

“But you’ll tell me if- if it’s too much?” he pressed. 

Steve smiled so sweetly at him, like it was quaint how worried he was about the whole thing, how careful he was when Steve probably wanted the opposite. “Yellow means slow down,” he told Bucky, “Yellow means I don’t like it, but I don’t want to stop and just need you to do something else. My safe word is red.” 

Bucky swallowed. He… didn’t speak this language. “Safe word… means you’re safe?” 

Steve’s eyes bulged a little and Bucky would have offered to stop again if Steve hadn’t cut him off. “Safe word means I’m not safe and I need you to make me safe. It means I don’t like it and I need to stop.” 

Bucky let out a breath. He wasn’t sure about this at all. It felt dangerous, and Steve was so precious to him. He wasn’t sure how many risks he could take with the blond underneath him. But he would. For Steve, he would do anything. “Okay.” 

“You can use it too, Buck,” Steve said, gaze intense. “If you ever need to stop, you can use the safe word too.” 

Bucky nodded. There was no way in hell he was going to stop anything that would make Steve happy. He made his answer the act of literally ripping Steve’s shirt off and kissing every inch of his chest. He sucked a hickey right over Steve’s heart, eliciting a promising moan. Bucky rewarded him with an easy bite, rolling the bruised flesh between his teeth. Steve… really seemed to like that, writhing against Bucky with a literal _whine_. 

Bucky shifted his weight so he could weigh Steve’s hips down with a knee to stop that writhing. “Like that?” he asked, an almost wicked glint in his eye. Steve shuddered under him, cheeks flushed as he panted and met Bucky’s gaze with half-lidded eyes. Bucky felt that look straight down to his dick where it twitched in his pants. Steve’s gaze flicked down and he reached for Bucky’s waistband. Bucky leaned a little more on Steve’s hip, trying to keep his weight on the other leg, as he freed his hand to pin Steve’s at his side. “I’m doing the touching right now, okay?” 

Steve’s face softened with Bucky’s voice and Bucky couldn’t stop himself from placing a slow kiss on those lips. This was probably too tender. He probably needed to stop qualifying his phrases with a permissive question at the end. Steve had already told him it was okay, had promised to tell him if it wasn’t. Bucky still felt lost, though. “How do you want this to go, Stevie?” he asked, voice heavy in his ear. “What do you want me to be?” 

Steve’s breath rushed hot and loud past Bucky’s own, like the question itself had the power to do him in. Bucky reached for Steve’s belt button, gently tracing his waistband as he waited for the answer. “Unrestrained,” Steve finally answered, his voice unnaturally high. 

Bucky nodded, half-nuzzling his understanding against Steve’s stubble before nibbling at his neck to try to detract from his awkward fumbling with the button on Steve’s jean. Steve reached to help with the hand Bucky couldn’t pin, so he bit hard enough to bruise. Steve actually let out a little yelp that had Bucky guiltily kissing the mark he’d left. Steve moaned and tried to move under him so Bucky palmed him through the jeans he still hadn’t managed to get undone. Steve groaned loudly, trying and failing to press into the touch. So Bucky withdrew his hand and used it to slap Steve’s hip. It was as close as he could get to a spank with Steve on his back, and they both met each other’s eyes with a startled look that Bucky had actually hit him. Steve didn’t say either of the words and he calmed down a little, so Bucky did too. He had to keep reminding himself that Steve wanted this, no matter how little sense that made to the ex-assassin. Bucky didn’t enjoy hitting Steve, but he enjoyed Steve’s happiness, which meant he could enjoy at least some part of this. At least, that’s what he was going to believe until he couldn’t anymore. 

_Unrestrained_ is what Steve had said. What the fuck did that mean? Did he expect Bucky to- to beat him? “Take these off,” Bucky ordered, his voice impressively steady as he stalled for time to think. There was no way he’d be able to all-out _beat_ Steve, but he could definitely be the main stereotype he was aware of. Bucky turned Steve’s hip toward the sofa, exposing his ass to the room and really just wanted to touch him gently, kiss him while massaging every bare inch of him. But right now, the way he’d promised to take care of Steve was counterintuitive. So he brought his hand down- nowhere near his full strength, but hard enough to turn one of those pale cheeks red. 

Steve huffed out a breath, his face screwed up in what was obviously pain, but his cock twitched against Bucky’s thigh and he didn’t even look like he was trying to think the words. So Bucky did it again, matching the red of the first hit to a red on the other cheek and Steve moaned. Bucky shivered at the sound, but almost went soft at the sight of Steve’s pained expression. This wasn’t working. 

Keeping in character as best he could, Bucky turned Steve onto his stomach, smacking his ass again and then soothing the red with his fingertips. The sounds Steve made were intoxicating and, now that he didn’t have to see pain in his expression, Bucky could actually enjoy it a bit. He could do this. Bucky landed another blow and Steve all but shouted his name, wriggling until he got his hand on his dick. Bucky considered pushing Steve’s hand away, but he couldn’t exactly stroke the blond while still paying attention to his ass. 

Bucky leaned forward to kiss the back of Steve’s neck, rubbing his cock over the bright red of his ass as he whispered, “I could fuck you right now.” It was the right choice. Steve let out a moan that sounded like a plea, shivering at the implication that Bucky _could_ do something and either hadn’t made up his mind or wasn’t going to tell Steve about it. “I could open you up right here on this couch, fuck you so hard you see stars. How does that sound, Stevie?” 

“Please,” was the pathetic reply and Bucky pressed his nose into Steve’s neck, moaning at the need he heard there. 

Bucky thought about going to the bedroom for lube, but he wasn’t sure if he had any and didn’t want to lose the momentum, so he slipped his arm under Steve and pressed a finger against his lips. “Suck,” he ordered, his voice surprisingly commanding. The longer they played like this, with Steve responding so well, the easier it became. Bucky had started off completely uncertain, extremely nervous, but that was starting to fade and he realized he was actually getting into it. His eyes fluttered shut as Steve worked on his finger, swirling his tongue in ways that shouldn’t feel so good on such a mundane body part. Moaning against his lover’s neck, Bucky reclaimed his finger and traced Steve’s hole, letting him shiver in anticipation, not quite pushing in for a minute or so before pulling back to add some of his own spit to the mix. Steve might like pain, but Bucky didn’t want this part to hurt. He slipped his finger in slowly, moving gently, trying to spread the spit around. Steve arched toward his boyfriend’s hand and Bucky swung a leg to the floor so he could lean forward and suck hickeys into his shoulders. 

“More,” Steve begged and Bucky added a second finger. Steve groaned and buried his face in the pillow, which Bucky took as a good sign. Fuck, the noises this man could make. Steve moaned obscenely, arching off the couch as Bucky stroked in, and he made a point to repeat the motion until Steve was literally shaking with the effort of holding back. “Bucky…”

Bucky withdrew his fingers slowly, working up as much spit as he could while he unbuttoned his own jeans. He’d at least had practice with buttons at this angle, so managed to get them undone in a reasonable amount of time. He slicked himself as much as he could, deciding he’d like to shower all their spit off with Steve if he was willing. “Fuck, Stevie,” he panted as he pushed in. If Steve weren’t pushing back, rushing him, Bucky would have been worried about how tight he still was. Part of him wanted to insist that they stop and let him prepare Steve a little more, but maybe this was another type of pain Steve liked. Then again, if Bucky had done something like this before he couldn’t remember it. Maybe this was how it was supposed to feel. 

“Buck,” Steve whimpered as he bottomed out. Steve reached back, gripping Bucky’s hip, and the ex-assassin didn’t bother reminding him who was in charge of touching because he was barely aware of anything outside of Steve’s ass and the ungodly noises he was making. Bucky started to move, slowly, but Steve pushed back and soon Bucky was making good on his promises about fucking the smaller man so hard he saw stars. Even muffled in the pillows of the couch, Steve sounded wrecked and Bucky felt about the same. He slowed his pace to lean forward, grazing his teeth over Steve’s shoulder. “Bucky, please,” Steve whined. 

“Touch yourself,” Bucky insisted. “I want you to come with me inside you.” 

Bucky barely held it together at Steve’s moan or the way he clenched around Bucky’s cock as he shifted to get his hand under himself. Bucky kept up the slow, torturous pace while Steve adjusted and stroked himself in ways Bucky wanted to learn for him. Once Steve had a decent pace going and seemed comfortable, Bucky sped up, moaning against Steve’s neck. Steve’s hand sped up on his dick to match the brunet’s pace, so Bucky went harder, until he wasn’t sure how Steve was taking the punishing pace, but he moaned Bucky’s name and shot his orgasm onto the back of the couch. Bucky watched Steve stroking himself, still panting and moaning, and ended up going over the edge less than a minute later. Steve let out another groan, going limp as Bucky filled him, thrusting a few more times before lying still and hugging Steve to his chest. 

He let a long moment pass before breathing out a disbelieving, “Fuck, Stevie.” 

Steve leaned back into him, reaching back silently to rub Bucky’s hip. The brunet buried his nose in Steve’s hair as they caught their breath, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up to Steve carefully trying to climb out of his arms. 

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked, suddenly painfully uncertain and very aware of the bruises littering Steve’s body. 

“Perfect,” Steve assured him, punctuating the statement with a quick kiss to Bucky’s lips. “I just need the toilet.” 

“Want to move to the bed?” Bucky asked. He was trying not to worry, but Steve looked rough and it was a little upsetting even knowing Steve had enjoyed it. 

Bucky realized suddenly that he didn’t think he could do this again. He would take an entire magazine of bullets for Steve, but he couldn’t bruise him up like that again. Even without seeing his face, even just focusing on his moans, he’d know what the end result looked like and he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. 

The worst part was knowing he’d do it anyway if Steve asked. 

“I’ll meet you there,” Steve grinned and Bucky gave him a muted version of the smile. What the fuck was he going to do? What if Steve expected Bucky to be rough from now on? What if this was the only kind of sex he’d ever want? Bucky liked the easy way they’d been before, exploring each other at whatever pace felt right, not worrying about if he was being too rough (or not rough enough) or if Steve would be afraid of him after. If Bucky would be afraid of himself. 

He realized he’d been worrying around the same circles for several minutes and got up. Steve wasn’t in the bed yet and, because Bucky couldn’t stop worrying about everything, he went to check on Steve. Knocking hesitantly, Bucky called, “Steve?” 

“Yeah, Buck, I’ll be out in a minute.” 

“I just wanted to make sure… everything’s okay?” 

“Everything’s fine,” Steve replied and the little pause before the reply worried Bucky even more. Was he just surprised at the question? He sounded surprised. Steve could be lying, too, but why would he lie to the brunet? Bucky loved him more than anything else in this world. 

Except Steve seemed fine when he came out of the bathroom- until he saw Bucky still standing there. “Buck? You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky replied quickly. “I mean… I’m… worried about you? I just… I know you said… I just… I wasn’t too rough?” 

Steve pressed the entirety of his body against Bucky before kissing him deep. “You were fine, Bucky. But maybe next time you could not… finish inside me? It’s… kind of messy. After.” 

Steve was blushing and Bucky felt himself smile a little. He remembered teasing Steve about how shy he was when it came to talking about sex, but it seemed so long ago. Especially since they’d been together pretty frequently since then- not counting his time in detention. He’d have to actually figure out how long he was in there. Now that he was living somewhere with a clock and light that dimmed, he was more aware of time passing and it bothered him how little he knew about his time when he was locked up. 

Steve tugged him toward the bed room. “But you sir, are spooning me tonight,” Steve insisted, and Bucky wondered how he was supposed to take the honorific. Were they kinky now? Was Steve going to start calling him Sir? Was Bucky supposed to start calling Steve pet names? Degrading ones? 

Fuck, he wanted to get off this ride. 

That talk could wait, though. For now, Steve was asking Bucky to hold him and Bucky wanted nothing more in this world than to hold his Stevie and maybe get some sleep. 

Unfortunately, he only managed to sleep for a couple hours before his body insisted he get up and move. He ignored it for at least an hour, but his brain wouldn’t shut up and neither would his muscles. He managed to slip out of bed without alerting Steve and ran about five thousand (okay, maybe not quite that many) laps around the seventeenth floor of the tower before getting the bath he’d intended to invite Steve to. When he got out, Steve was awake and had made them both cereal. 

“I was thinking,” Steve said without so much as a good morning, “that maybe we could spend the day cuddling and watching movies or something.” 

That sounded so good. “That sounds perfect, Stevie,” Bucky agreed easily. “But first I have to let Tony have me for a bit.” 

Steve rolled his eyes fondly as he set his sugar on the coffee table and grabbed the remote. “That’s not until after lunch,” he insisted, flipping on the TV as it warmed up. 

“And we slept pretty late,” Bucky pointed out. “It’s almost lunch now.” 

The news came on behind Steve and they both froze as they heard _the Winter Soldier_ behind the smaller man. Steve quickly turned and started to navigate to the apps to find Netflix, but he didn’t think to mute the television, so they both heard the clip of the second half of Mai’s interview that had been airing almost nonstop for the past day: _I’ve never told anyone that part before. That he r-raped my mother. He raped her and then stabbed her in the heart. And then he_ smiled _at me. I was crying and he hit me, I still have the scar, and my God, he just smiled…_.

Steve had gone very still and Bucky was certain that neither of them were breathing. He didn’t exactly recognize her, but he was certain she was the little girl from his nightmare, the crying child bleeding in front of him. “Steve?” he asked weakly. 

The interview kept playing but Bucky didn’t register any of it. Steve was tense as he turned to Bucky. “Is it… true?” 

Bucky stared at him fearfully. “I don’t remember,” he replied, and then admitted to his worst fear: “Maybe.” 

Steve wasn’t looking at him and Bucky did everything he could not to think about what Steve was thinking. “I…” Steve began, but he didn’t seem able to figure out the rest of the sentence. 

“Stevie, I-“ 

What? He what? Would never do something like that? Could never? The bruised collarbone peeking out of Steve’s shirt said he could do that even without the fucking trigger words. That made anything he could say useless. Bucky was capable of violence. Even without being forced, he could hurt someone he loved and it didn’t matter why. He was capable of it. 

“I think I need some space,” Steve finally said. 

It was the worst thing Bucky could have heard in that moment, especially because he knew it was a completely justified response. “Whatever you need, Stevie,” Bucky replied quietly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but there was nothing he could say to make it better. Everything he was thinking would only sound manipulative if he said it out loud. Especially the part of himself (however small) that wanted to take the elevator to the roof and then take the one-step shortcut to the ground. 

Bucky didn’t even bother to get his shoes before leaving the apartment. 


	5. Chapter 5

He’d been sitting on the floor outside Stark’s lab for hours before the man himself finally stepped outside. He looked both directions in confusion and said, “JARVIS, are you-“ and then stopped when he glanced down. “Barnes. Why are you on the floor?” 

Bucky sighed and got up. “Lost track of time, sorry,” he mumbled. He’d meant to go in for his arm at the time Stark had sent him, but his brain was busy not functioning except to make him feel like the biggest piece of shit to ever live. He was upset about Steve, obviously, but he was even more upset about what he’d apparently done. Intellectually, Bucky knew he would never have done anything like that if he’d been in control, but it didn’t change the fact that his body had ended and ruined so many lives. 

Steve was probably right to be afraid of him. 

Stark watched him amble into the lab and sighed. “Shit, you saw the interview.” 

Bucky shrugged. “It wasn’t like I didn’t know what they made me into.” 

“Do I need to call Steve again? I’ll do it,” he said, like it was a threat. 

“Steve doesn’t want to see me right now,” Bucky replied, his voice almost steady as he said it. “Can we just get my arm done?” 

Stark didn’t reply, and that was Bucky’s first clue that this wasn’t going to go his way. Still, the man didn’t argue and instead went to his workstation. Remembering where they’d gotten sidetracked the day before, Bucky pulled his shirt off without being asked and settled into the chair. Obediently, he raised his arm as Stark slipped the harness over his head and hit a button. The straps reeled into the center, pulling to a tautness that was just on the right side of comfortable. Any tighter and he’d have been complaining. Well, no. Bucky would just be silently cussing inside his head. It didn’t usually occur to him to complain about something as mundane as discomfort. 

Bucky focused on what Stark was doing. He’d obviously put a lot of thought into it, making it as easy as possible to get in and out of. The button would really help him, since he wouldn’t have to manually tighten or buckle anything. He held still as Stark took a screwdriver to a few joints, did a few scans, and then stared appraisingly. “Yeah, that’s good. Come over here. Let’s see if you can get the connections. I’ve been playing with magnets.” 

Bucky didn’t ask. Stark had placed the shoulder just over the edge of the counter and showed Bucky how to line up the harness with the prosthetic before hitting another button (apparently Stark really wanted to get rid of some buttons by putting them into Bucky’s new limb) which drew the arm so quickly into the socket of the harness that Bucky was almost knocked over. 

“Okay!” Stark said. “Maybe a little less power in the magnets- here, turn those a quarter to lock- but I think we’re good.” 

“It’s not working.” 

“Oh, yeah. Had to turn it off last night. The neural implant was setting it off, and I really don’t need to know what you were doing, though I can guess-! Here.” 

Stark laid his palm over the metal forearm, lighting up a built-in display. He keyed in about seventeen digits before grabbing Bucky’s right hand and laying it flat over the square where the numbers had been. His hand tingled for a moment and then the arm let out a short burst of vibration. “Uh?” 

“It knows your hand print now. Just lay your palm there for five uninterrupted seconds. Turns it on and off.” 

“Cool.” Bucky stood, flexing the arm. It was odd because he could feel the motion over his whole chest now, thanks to the harness. His other arm hadn’t felt quite so… prosthetic. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Bucky shook his head, trying to look grateful instead of unhappy. “It’s just different. It’ll take me a bit to get used to it.” 

“Well, I could probably wire it into you like the last one, but this seemed safer.” 

“No, it’s good,” Bucky agreed. “Safer is good.” 

Stark furrowed his brow. “So, if it’s not the arm-“

“Stark, I appreciate the concern, but we’re not there yet.” 

“Fair enough. But, you know, my lab is always open. I might not hear you over the sound of my own brilliant ideas, but the lab. It’s open.” 

“Tha-“

“Sir, I hate to interrupt, but I have a message for Sergeant Barnes,” came the computer person’s voice. 

Bucky looked up at the ceiling, a fact that never ceased to amuse the billionaire, and said “What is it?” 

“It’s Steve Rogers, sir,” the voice replied. “He has requested that I inform you that he needs you at your earliest convenience.” 

Bucky’s heart started racing. What did that mean? “Is he okay?” 

“While he is in no immediate danger, I do not believe that I can answer that question in the affirmative,” the computer person replied. 

Bucky glanced at Stark, who waved permissively, and then he took off, pulling his shirt on awkwardly as he rushed out of the lab. He tried to hang on to the phrase _no immediate danger_ but he couldn’t help but wonder if that meant that was non-immediate danger and if the computer voice couldn’t say Steve was okay because it didn’t know how to make that assessment or because Steve was actually _not okay_.

The answer was painfully obvious when Bucky entered the apartment and his eyes fell on Steve. He was perched in the corner of the couch, knees drawn tight to his chest, crying softly. Bucky started to rush over but forced himself to slow down. “I’d really like to give you a hug right now, pal,” he hedged. “But if you still need space…”

“I don’t know,” Steve replied unsteadily. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I just… can’t stop… I don’t feel good and I keep thinking ‘Bucky would help,’ but I think- I think I’m a little afraid of you right now. And I don’t know why, Buck. I know you’d never- But I can’t-?”

Bucky felt like he was going to throw up. “I did though,” he said, sitting in the chair by the opposite end of the sofa. He didn’t want to tower over Steve right now- especially not with two arms. “I hurt you yesterday. You got bruises all over from it.” 

“But I asked for that.” 

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. “Did you?” he asked uncertainly. “You… I mean, you didn’t specifically… I just thought it was what you wanted and you didn’t use the words, so…”

“I know,” Steve nodded. “I… Maybe- maybe next time you could… so I can see you?” 

Bucky drew in a breath. He hadn’t quite been prepared to talk about next time- not so soon, not with Steve so upset. “You want to do that again?” Bucky asked. “You’re… afraid of me.” 

“But I know you’d stop if I asked,” Steve replied. 

“But would you? Ask?” he couldn’t help but say. 

Steve hesitated just a little too long. His voice was just a little too high when he said, “Yeah.” 

“I just… Stevie, you’re not okay right now. I can’t help but think we did something wrong yesterday because if we did it right, you shouldn’t be so upset.” 

Steve reached out a hand and Bucky moved to the couch, taking it with his right. “You have two now,” the blond observed. 

“Yeah, take some getting used to,” he replied, but his attention was still on Steve. “Probably not very comfortable to cuddle.” 

“Probably just as comfortable as the last one,” Steve countered. 

“Yeah, probably,” Bucky agreed, wondering if he was going to end up with permission to hug it better at the end of this. “More straps though.” 

“I could test it for you.” 

Bucky nodded, trying not to appear as eager as he felt. He was still on edge, like one wrong word would break everything. Steve pulled on Bucky’s hand to help himself up as he crawled over and deposited himself against the brunet’s left side. Bucky tried not to tense, but he had too much self-conscious self-awareness plaguing him. Somehow he’d screwed up yesterday and Steve was either incapable or unwilling to tell him how. He just hoped he could fix it. 

Bucky finally relaxed as he heard Steve breathe him in. If Steve took comfort in his scent, it meant Steve wasn’t afraid of him, could still go to him when he was hurting, still _loved_ him. Bucky wrapped his right arm around Steve’s shoulders, curling around him protectively as he breathed in the scent of Steve. He was too fucking warm to cuddle, but he’d be damned if he was going to stop. “I’m so fucking sorry, Stevie,” he mumbled into his hair, wondering why he spent so much time talking to his boyfriend’s scalp this way. 

Steve traced circles on Bucky’s waist that made him shiver and then rubbed the tingles away. “You did exactly what I asked you to do,” Steve assured him. 

Bucky started to rub Steve’s back in slow, soothing motions. “So why do you sound so broken up about it, huh pal? Can you just… Did you even… enjoy it?” 

“I enjoy everything about you, Buck.” 

“I’m not asking about me, Stevie,” Bucky insisted. “I’m asking about what we- what I did. You gotta talk to me. Tell me what went wrong. I don’t want fuck up again, okay?” 

“Buck, I just want you to- to-“ Steve buried his face in Bucky’s stomach and that was how he knew he needed to hear the end of that sentence more than anything else in this life. 

“What do you want me to do, pal?” Bucky prompted gently. 

“I don’t know,” Steve moaned. “That’s the problem. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy. I just… when you were… and I couldn’t see you… and I… I couldn’t help but think about Brock.” 

“Ouch,” Bucky replied, sarcasm evident in his tone. He tried to take his torso back to get Steve to look at him. “You gotta tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like, Stevie.” 

“But I didn’t want to ruin it for you,” Steve argued, and Bucky couldn’t help it. He let out some cross between a laugh and a cry. _Pal, it’d have to be going well for me in the first place for you to ruin it._

Shit. He was doing the same thing to Steve that he was asking the blond not to do to him. “Stevie, sweetheart, dollface,” he said, laying on the nicknames like it could stop the inevitable trainwreck of admitting he couldn’t be what Steve wanted, “I ain’t ever going to enjoy hurting you. I could only do it because I thought you were enjoying it. I… couldn’t even look at your face, babydoll. Seeing you in pain… That’s… That’s a red for me, pal.” 

Steve finally looked at him, horror written onto every inch of his body when he heard the safe word. He grabbed Bucky’s shirt (which, fuck, he just realized was on backward because of the rush he’d been in to get here) like he expected the brunet to run away through the back of the couch or something. Bucky might have had a similar look, but at least half of it was his overuse of antiquated endearments. He might be about a century old, but he’d been asleep for most of it. Mentally, he and Steve were similar ages. “I told you it goes both ways,” Steve choked out. “You get to use it too. You should’ve… Bucky.” 

“Yeah, well obviously you should’ve too,” Bucky countered with a frown. “You ignored the fact that you were afraid or- or whatever you were because you thought I’d like it, but I don’t Stevie. I don’t like knowing that I was hurting you in ways neither of us wanted and you just… let me.” 

Steve’s gaze fell and his grip slackened. Fuck, what had he said wrong now? “I just… want you to be happy.” 

“Well, you unhappy makes me unhappy, punk. So step one is make sure you’re okay, alright? Don’t fake it like you did last night, right? Please, Stevie. You’re the best thing I’ll ever have. I couldn’t stand it if I wrecked you.” 

Steve sighed. “I’m… kind of already wrecked, Buck. If it wasn’t obvious.” 

“Which is why we’re talking.” 

Steve shook his head, looking more upset, since Bucky could do literally nothing right today. “I’m talking about in general. Me in general. Brock… he broke something in me that I don’t think can be fixed. So me… I let you just like I let him because I don’t know how else to be…” Steve shrugged and again Bucky was left with the familiar feeling that the end of that sentence was something he needed to know and wasn’t going to get. 

“Stevie, you’re already everything I could ask for. You don’t need to change or be anything or do anything except take care of yourself. I don’t care if I’m one second away from orgasm or in the middle of a sandwich. If I’m doing something that is hurting you even in a real small way, I need you to stop me. That’s all I need from you. That’s it, pal.” 

Steve started crying again as he burrowed into Bucky again, but this time Bucky was fairly certain it was the good kind. “You gotta promise me the same thing, asshole,” Steve said, his voice simulatenously muffled and amplified against the brunet’s neck. 

“I promise, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered. “I can enjoy things I wouldn’t necessarily otherwise if I know you’re enjoying it. I just… I can’t be turned on by you in pain. Is that… I mean, can that work?” 

Steve climbed on top of him properly and gave Bucky what was probably the sweetest kiss he’d ever received. (Bucky was pretty sure it definitely was, but his memory situation meant he could never be absolutely certain about anything. Dick brain.) “That can work,” Steve confirmed quietly. He kissed Bucky again. “I don’t want anything you can’t give, Buck. I don’t want another Brock. I want you, and I don’t mind figuring out what that means. That’s part of the fun, right?” 

Bucky gave him a shiny-eyed smile and hugged him. He felt at peace for approximately two seconds before realizing that his desire to physically never let Steve go was becoming a very literal problem. 

“Hey, Buck?” Steve said, his voice a little choked. “Maybe ease up a little?” 

Bucky tried as hard as he could to loosen his grip, but the arm was locked in a grip on Steve that he was pretty sure was about one ounce of pressure away from breaking bone. “I c-ca- Stark! Computer person, get Stark!” he panicked. 

Steve buried his face in Bucky’s neck, his breath coming in pained gasps as Bucky tried to pry the metal arm loose with his flesh arm. Steve let out a pained whimper as the attempt backfired and the arm clicked slightly tighter. “I’m sorry, Stevie, I’m so sorry,” Bucky was babbling. His breathing wasn’t much better than Steve’s because he couldn’t stop picturing Steve crushed to death against him, with no way to- 

Bucky reached blindly for the panel on his arm that would shut it off. Even if it didn’t unlock, at least it couldn’t get tighter, right? Most of it was against Steve and more apologies streamed from his mouth as he tried to force his hand between them, finally getting the arm to power off once four of his fingers were falling asleep in its crushing grip. It went blessedly limp, though still had Steve’s shirt tangled up in the fingers. He removed it from the harness, trying to help Steve sit up. Bucky looked him over, his heart still racing as he recognized the signs of an asthma attack. He squeezed Steve’s hand before running to the bedroom and grabbing the emergency inhaler, rubbing Steve’s arm as he focused on getting air in and out. At least it didn’t look like they would need an ambulance. Bucky wanted to hug him and blanket his face in kisses, but he fought down the impulse in favor of giving him space to breathe. 

The blond shifted uncomfortably and Bucky tried to help him out of the shirt that was keeping the arm solidly stabbing into his lumbar. It was when Bucky stood up, placed a gentle kiss on Steve’s cheek, and went to get him a fresh shirt that Stark announced his presence with an overly loud, “What the hell did I just walk into? I gave you a room for a reason, Barnes.” 

Bucky glared at him, all of his fear at nearly killing Steve with his own hands finding a focus. “The arm malfunctioned and nearly crushed Steve to death. Barely got it to shut off.” 

Stark frowned and immediately went over to examine the arm, though he had a pretty obvious reaction to the bruises peppered all over Steve’s torso. At least it didn’t seem like disapproval or concern that Bucky might have done it. He really couldn’t handle that right now. 

He reached their bedroom, too large, too soft, too empty, and it all hit him so hard he had to stumble back and sit on the edge of the bed. He’d almost killed Steve. What if he hadn’t been able to turn the arm off? What if he’d had to hear and feel all of Steve’s ribs crack against his own, been forced to feel blood drip from Steve’s mouth, forced to hold his limp, lifeless form until Stark had gotten there? Bucky would have found a way to kill himself, that was for damn sure. He could live with a lot, but not something like that. Unsteadily, he forced his trembling legs to take his weight as he crossed to the dresser and found the one where Steve kept his shirts. Bucky leaned against the wall with it, hugging it to his collar bone and tilting his face to inhale the scent of laundry detergent not quite erasing the subtle hint of his lover woven into the worn fabric. 

He let it comfort him a little and reminded himself forcibly that Steve was alive and would be fine, but probably needed him right now. Especially now. He definitely needed the shirt that Bucky was jealously hoarding. 

Forcing a pathetic smile onto his face, Bucky walked back out to offer the shirt to Steve and helped him into it. He hated the cautious way he moved, gingerly as if even the slightest motion was agony. His ribs were probably bruised. He should get Steve to the medical wing as soon as Stark fucked off. The billionaire was definitely on his shit list now. 

“Can’t say I saw that coming,” Stark remarked as he poked around inside the arm and managed to free Steve’s other shirt from its clutches. 

“What, that a piece of your tech could possibly malfunction in any way?” Bucky threw back, doing a piss poor job of concealing his anger. 

“That too, but I meant you being the top in this relationship,” Stark clarified as if they were talking about the weather. “Seriously, have you met yourselves? It’s pretty obvious which one of you wears the pants.” 

“We both wear pants,” Bucky replied, annoyance growing. 

“Idiom,” Stark rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is, if I’d had to guess- which, I don’t now, thanks for that scarring bit of information- I’d have pegged Steve as the dominant one.” 

“Is this really appropriate?” Steve choked out and Bucky switched immediately into protective mode, zeroing in on his face and pulling him into his chest so that he was a solid surface for Steve to lean back against. 

“I’m just saying,” the billionaire shrugged. “Even the way he’s doing that protect thing right now? It’s like he’s trying to be your furniture which is a total- Right, yeah, you’re right. Inappropriate. But there are people who really like being other people’s furniture.” 

“I assume you’re Pepper’s favorite footstool,” Bucky lashed out. 

It backfired. Oh, hell, did it backfire. “Her favorite table too.” 

Bucky couldn’t even tell if the smirk Stark was giving him was the smirk of someone telling the truth or someone lying just to get under his skin. He definitely knew the worst part was the way something in him lit up at the thought of Steve treating him like furniture- not a footstool, but definitely some other things. Steve being his favorite blanket? That was Steve treating him like a bed. He was absolutely playing chair to Steve right now, even if he’d never thought about it that way. 

Fuck, was Stark right? Something flashed across the man’s face and he turned his attention back to the arm. “I’d better get this down to the lab and run some diagnostics. Should probably get Rogers to the medical wing to get those ribs looked at. If you’re embarrassed, I’ll back you up on the arm doing all of that.” 

Bucky stared in shock for a long moment before the words sank in. This was too much for one day. His brain was already fried to hell and now it was expected to deal with about five hundred things. He cuddled Steve a little as he tried to mentally list the priorities. Now that death was no longer a (literal) pressing concern and the glitchy arm was safely locked away in Stark’s lab, number one was making sure Steve was okay, which meant going to medical. “You okay to walk or should I see if the doc’ll come up here?” he asked gently. 

He’d prefer to just carry Steve, but between his lone arm and the pain Steve seemed to be in with any motion, it would probably go spectacularly badly. “I’m gonna milk this for all it’s worth and insist you let me lean on you,” Steve warned him. 

“Least I can do after I almost killed you,” Bucky agreed easily. 

Steve responded by slowly rising from the couch and Bucky maintained about a two inch perimeter as he did so. Tucking Steve under his arm was the most natural thing he could’ve done anymore and they both pretended that Steve didn’t need any help at all, no matter how heavily he leaned in. 

“You didn’t almost kill me,” Steve told him once they’d made it to the elevator. He cut Bucky off before he could argue. “The arm almost killed me. You saved me, Buck. It’s… really important to me that you understand the difference, okay? Same with all the things with HYDRA. They killed all those people. Not you. You saved lives. When you broke free of them, every time you get something else out of your head that they put there, you’re saving everyone they would’ve pointed you at next. You’re a hero, not a monster. Bad things happened to you, and it doesn’t make you bad, Buck. You- you know the difference, right?” 

Bucky swallowed. His windpipe was trying to strangle itself, judging by the tightness in the back of his throat. “How do you always see the best in everyone?” he asked with a wet chuckle. 

Steve huffed out an annoyed sigh and Bucky could see the grimace of pain even in profile. “Bucky. I’m serious. This wasn’t your fault. You’ve only ever tried to do good, and it seems like you’re the only one- who’s actually spent any meaningful time around you- who doesn’t see that. Tell me you’ll at least try to understand that.” 

Bucky slotted his fingers into Steve’s as they waited for the right floor. “Okay, Stevie. I’ll try. I am trying. I swear.” 

“Good, because you thinking my boyfriend’s some kind of terrible psycho murderer is one heck of a disagreement. Irreconcilable. I don’t think I could even be friends with someone who felt that way about you. So get it together, Barnes.” 

“Yes, sir,” he quipped. It was in response to the almost military sounding command, but oh, fuck. Fuck. Stark was right. Anyone who even looked at them would mistake Steve for the one who liked to be in charge. Bucky was going to have to fix that if he really wanted to give Steve what he needed. Except what Steve said he wanted was for Bucky to be honest with him, but it wasn’t like he was being dishonest. He’d told Steve the truth, that he couldn’t get turned on by Steve in pain, but he could enjoy something on the principle that Steve did. That meant he could enjoy finding a part of him that liked to be in control. Bucky definitely liked being in control. Being out of control was his biggest fear. Having no control over his body, even parts of it, had been a source of great trauma to him for decades. By rights, he should long for any and all control he could get. 

Except, deep at his core, he knew what it felt like and he didn’t ever want to take control from anyone- especially not Steve. Bucky knew on a theoretical level that Steve would have control, every ounce of it, because the second he said anything that even _rhymed_ with red or yellow, Bucky would back off so far Steve might have to send out a search party. Steve might have to only greet him with hey’s and hi’s from now on because _hello_ was too close to _yellow_.

“You okay?” Steve asked, an audible frown in his voice. 

“Yeah, I just don’t like seeing you hurt,” he replied, because it was the closest he could get to the truth. 

Whatever Steve thought of that would have to wait because they’d arrived at medical and apparently Stark had given them a heads up, because they were swarming them as soon as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Steve was helped into a wheelchair and Bucky was largely ignored, expected to follow or not, he guessed. Naturally, he followed. Until they told him he couldn’t, he was staying with Steve. 

“Oh good, you’re here.” Bucky turned to the somewhat familiar voice and saw Doctor Samson. “I’ll be quick because I know you want to stay with Steve, but once they’ve got him fixed up, would you mind stopping by my office? We don’t have any reliable documentation on file for you that doesn’t conflict with everything else and I’d feel a whole lot better if we had something we can verify before something goes wrong and there’s no baseline to compare to.” 

Bucky nodded distractedly and tried to remind himself that he liked Samson and the increasing distance between him and Steve wasn’t a personal attack. “Yeah, sure, after,” he agreed before taking off to close that distance. 

In all, it was mostly boring and routine. Even the pounding anxiety and guilt in his chest was routine by this point. They took some x-rays, asked Steve about his pain, made him move a few different ways, but mostly just gave him some ridiculously large Motrin that Bucky was fairly certain anyone who hadn’t suffered through years of childhood illness would be unable to swallow. 

They kept Steve for the night and didn’t let Bucky stay. They probably had his number and knew that eventually he’d end up wrapped around Steve somehow, not doing those ribs any favors. Thankfully, there was only one partial fracture and mostly Steve was just bruised to hell and back. They let him stay until the other pill they gave Steve kicked in and the beautiful blond couldn’t keep his eyes on Bucky anymore, falling into a deep sleep. Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead, slow and gentle, resting there for a moment before heading out. 

“Thought you’d forget!” Samson stopped him cheerfully. “I promise it won’t take long, Barnes. Most invasive thing I’ll ask for is one vial of blood. Everything else is just height, weight, listening to the old ticker, basic, boring stuff.” 

Bucky sighed. Maybe a little basic and boring was what he needed. The office itself was cozy, walls covered in posters with brains, jokes about brains, and a few that were not medically-related at all, as far as Bucky could tell. Samson followed his gaze and then looked back to Bucky. “Star Trek,” he beamed. “I’m told you’re interested in futuristic technology. The stuff in Star Trek would probably fit the bill. It’s got spaceships, phasers, aliens… If you’re ever bored, maybe check it out. There should be a Netflix profile for you on the TV.” 

“Okay,” Bucky agreed, and actually meant it. It wasn’t like he was going to sleep easy that night knowing Steve was being kept overnight for injuries. He didn’t care if nothing was fully broken. Steve was hurt and Bucky had done at least some of it intentionally. He felt a lot better after their talk, but it hadn’t been lost on him that he’d done something Steve hadn’t liked. There was a word he was trying so hard not to think, but those four letters kept trying to burn through his brain. What else was it called when you fucked someone who didn’t really want to? 

“Alright, just going to get a base temperature, listen to your heart, and then we’re done,” Samson beamed. Bucky obediently accepted the plastic tip that stabbed the underside of his tongue for several seconds before the machine beeped and his tongue was given a reprieve. Samson recorded his numbers with one hand and pulled the stethoscope onto his ears with the other. It was almost impressive the way he made it look so natural. “Would you-“

Bucky was already pulling his shirt up, not bothering to find out if the doc was going to ask Bucky to remove it or if he just wanted to ask to reach under it. He’d had enough medical examinations even after HYDRA to feel nothing about removing the garment. 

Besides, Samson had been right. Star Trek was absolutely something Bucky would love. He loved it so much that he was still watching it the next morning when they called him to let him know Steve could leave medical. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, there is one TOS episode that is the hill I will die on. I don’t know why I have such a vendetta against it, but I do. It’s probably not even as bad as I remember it being, but I’ll never find out because I can’t bring myself to sit through it again. This isn’t even the first time I’ve had a character in something complain about it. I didn’t even mean to bring up Star Trek, let alone that episode, but I do need to finish part 3/3 of my ST series so I can justify writing the stucky crossover where Steve and Kirk are both on Tarsus IV. (Let no one accuse me of having a fluff-first instinct.) This a/n has travelled through so many things I don’t even know what it is.

Thankfully Steve liked Star Trek because his commentary was bringing something back to life in Bucky that he hadn’t even realized was gone. Bucky hadn’t watched much television- and no science fiction- so the cinematography seemed pretty good to him, but Steve had some _opinions_ on everything from the costumes to the aliens to the consoles on the ship. He even outright laughed at the giant, disembodied hand episode. Bucky wasn’t sure if he would’ve liked it without Steve’s complaining informing his opinions, but the musician was not wrong. It did seem like the writers had been low on ideas when they came up with the idea to spend an entire episode dedicated to the crew of the Enterprise trying to convince a giant green space hand to let go of the ship. 

Steve healed quickly, it felt like, or maybe it was that Bucky enjoyed having Steve leaning back into his chest while they watched the old TV show and (mostly Steve) made fun of it. He definitely enjoyed it more than the fear that, once Steve was well enough, he’d have to try hurting him again. 

It occurred to Bucky that maybe his dread was something he should tell Steve about, but he’d convinced himself that it wouldn’t be a problem, that he was just afraid of it going badly like it did before. They had talked this time, though. Bucky had done some reading on the internet about safety and consent and making sure to check in with Steve. He especially appreciated whoever suggested that ordering Steve to acknowledge the safe words was a way of making sure he was still with Bucky. It had really frightened him to read stories of submissives who’d forgotten their safe word in the moment- whether from experiencing some kind of trigger or panic or what, it didn’t matter. Bucky wanted to be sure that Steve was constantly aware he could stop anything and everything. It was the only way he’d be able to do what Steve wanted. What Steve _needed_.

Bucky was starting to wonder if what he personally needed was just the pair of them in their sweatpants and t-shirts cuddled up on a couch, watching space shows together. He had learned a lot of new words on the internet, and never had a phrase felt more personally relevant than _touch starved_. Fucking hell, all Steve had to do was bump their legs together under a table and Bucky was ready to cut his other arm off for more of it. When they cuddled or slept, every inch of his body he could manage to get into contact with Steve was touching him. If Bucky could somehow press both his chest and his back into Steve at the same time, he fucking would. He’d bury his face into Steve and never come out again if it was an option. Thankfully, Steve seemed to recognize how much Bucky craved that contact and was constantly making excuses to bump into him. He’d pour bowls of cereal on the same square of counter where Bucky was making coffee, or run his fingers through Bucky’s hair any time Bucky was sitting somewhere he was passing. There was also the fact that Steve never, not ever, cut short a period of cuddling unless he had to. If one of them had to be somewhere, or eat, or take care of some other need, Steve would end things, but otherwise he glued himself to Bucky like he knew just how much of the brunet hinged on knowing on a physical level that Steve wasn’t going to leave him. 

Steve had been absently tracing Bucky’s thigh during the episode, and as the credits rolled, Steve shifted back a bit in a way that could only have been an intentional grind against his dick. He leaned his head back on Bucky’s shoulder. “Tired yet?” he asked, shifting again. 

Bucky bit back on a groan. Okay, maybe cuddling wasn’t _all_ he needed. 

“You seem like you could be convinced to go to bed,” Steve teased him. 

“Yeah, you’re definitely appealing to my weaker nature here, pal.” 

“Is it weaker?” Steve challenged and Bucky felt his dick lose interest, but his heart was pretty determined. He reached his hand up, pressing his palm into Steve’s chest to hold him still. Steve shivered a little. 

“Guess you’re gonna find out,” Bucky replied, his voice strangely deep. He hadn’t intended to sound that way, but it was working for Steve, and that gave Bucky a weird sense of pride. He stood up, still holding Steve in place and forced him to walk with Bucky pressed up behind him to their room. Steve wriggled a little against him as he kicked the bedroom door shut and Bucky felt his heart skip. With an effort to maintain that same voice, he said, “Tell me the safe words.” 

“Uh-“ Steve stammered, and there was a moment where Bucky almost ripped himself away for fear that Steve was hurt in some way, but he must have just been thrown off by the question. Confidently now, the blond said, “Yellow and red.” 

“Good,” Bucky growled right against his ear before whirling Steve around and walking him backward to the bed. “You will use them if you even think you might need to,” he said, his voice as full of authority as he could manage. 

Steve shuddered through a nod and startled as the backs of his legs hit the bed. This was the moment Bucky had been worried about. “Stay,” he said firmly as he headed for the closet. He’d thought a lot about the logistics of this, of what had and hadn’t worked before. One thing he knew was he couldn’t hold Steve in place as easily while using his hand to touch him. So he’d done some reading about rope. There were a lot of complicated knots that he had no intention of trying, so his main take away was that he needed something thick, to avoid cutting into Steve’s skin, and something at least somewhat smooth so it wouldn’t rub him raw but could still hold a knot. 

He returned with the rope lightly coiled and let a little of his nerves shine through when he asked hesitantly, “Green?” 

Steve was staring at the rope and Bucky couldn’t tell if he was really turned on or really worried. “Green,” Steve shivered, and Bucky had his answer. 

He gave Steve a grin and pressed against him, kissing him deep as he dragged the coil of rope up Steve’s spine. He pulled away slowly and whispered against Steve’s lips, “I want you on your back, arms above your head, holding the bed posts.” 

Steve nodded and Bucky felt a shiver as Steve’s hair brushed against his forehead. He let his eyes flutter shut for a moment before watching Steve crawl backward up the bed, both of them watching each other raptly. Bucky was pretty sure both of them were wondering what he was going to do. Everything he’d read, everything he’d planned, had done absolutely nothing to prepare him for the actual reality of Steve offering himself in this way. If Bucky didn’t know he was supposed to be hurting Steve in the immediate future, he’d be really fucking turned on by the look in his eye, the way he pulled off his shirt to reveal his beautiful, healed and unmarked chest when Bucky said, “No shirt.” 

Bucky’s gaze traveled Steve’s torso appreciatively. He wanted to _touch_ so badly, but the things he wanted to do weren’t in line with the Mission. Maybe it should have alarmed him that he was thinking of this as a Mission, but he wasn’t the Asset and this was _Steve_. Bucky would die for Steve. What was a little discomfort to make Steve happy? Bucky had been practicing good one-handed knots while his boyfriend had been in the studio all week, so there was no fumbling when he secured Steve’s wrists to the bed posts he was holding. 

Steve was looking up at him with so much trust, and Bucky was a little overwhelmed. There was something in Steve’s eyes that wasn’t quite fear, but was definitely nerves of some kind as he waited for whatever might come. His eyes travelled down Steve’s torso again, hoping for inspiration or direction or a sign that he wasn’t completely wrong in some way, and what he landed on was the sweatpants. No buttons. Had Steve worn these to be comfortable or because he had in mind how much Bucky had struggled with one hand on another person’s waistband? 

He made up his mind easily, pulling the waistband down so that it sat under Steve’s cock- full and begging for attention- and lifted it. Bucky touched Steve, just a light brush of fingertips before grabbing him and giving him a few hard strokes which produced a throaty moan from his lover. He let go and leaned forward, whispering in the blond’s ear, “It’s not going to be that easy, pal.” 

Steve let out a strangled noise and Bucky smirked. Good. The Mission was going well. He reached for the bed side table for the lube. He wasn’t going to use it yet, but he wanted it handy so there wouldn’t be any awkward fumbling later to undo all of his work. 

Giving Steve a wicked grin as he set it in the crook of his lover’s shoulder, Bucky dragged his fingers down Steve’s chest and then circled a nipple, reveling in the way Steve bit his lip at the sensation. He watched Steve’s face for a moment, bathing in the eye contact before adding his thumb to the mix and pinching- hard. “Oh _fuck_ ,” Steve moaned, his eyes falling shut and his head tilting back. Bucky twisted a little and Steve let out a broken sound that sent Bucky’s anxiety through the roof so quickly that he let go without even thinking the thought. Steve’s eyes fluttered open and landed on Bucky’s. “Green. Green, Buck.” 

So Bucky reached for the other nipple to give it a similar treatment, rolling it roughly between his index finger and thumb, reminding himself that the noises Steve was making were good noises. He shifted so he could rub his hip lightly (and briefly) against Steve’s cock, eliciting more moans that weren’t quite Bucky’s cup of tea, but which he now understood to mean Mission Success. Maybe Bucky should have gotten toys or maybe he should have formed a more concrete plan than “tie Steve up and inflict as little pain as possible while still getting him off,” but this seemed to be working well enough. He released the nipple and reached up to cradle the back of Steve’s neck, leaning to kiss him (because he just needed to) before grabbing that blond hair and pulling it tight in his fist. “My Steve,” he growled possessively, and fuck if Steve didn’t seem ready to come just at those words. 

“Your Steve,” he agreed in a breathy, faint voice that set Bucky’s nerves on edge. 

“Tell me what the safe words are,” he ordered. 

“Yellow and red,” Steve panted. 

“What color are we now?” he pressed. 

“So fucking green,” Steve moaned. 

“Good,” Bucky rumbled against his neck, biting down enough to leave a mark. Steve arched against Bucky’s hip and the brunet was certain this was going better than the last time. He rolled his jaw, hoping the light pain in the neck would distract Steve from realizing that Bucky had grabbed the lube and was slicking his fingers. He shifted so it was easier to reach between Steve’s legs as he switched to kissing him. Steve craned his neck eagerly and Bucky smiled against his lover’s lips. He loved this part. So much. 

“Bucky,” Steve moaned into his mouth when he felt the finger tracing his hole, and Bucky actually felt his dick twitch a little. He gave Steve’s lips a parting kiss- he had a Mission, after all- and kissed and nibbled his way down to Steve’s chest, taking a nipple between his teeth in the same moment he pushed a finger all the way in without any gentleness. He’d gotten it ridiculously slick, so it shouldn’t- Oh, good, Steve was moaning in a way that meant he liked it. Bucky let his hand do what it wanted, twisting and thrusting, while he focused on that precious nipple, his teeth tight enough to leave an impression, but not enough to do any damage. 

Again, Steve’s hips rose from the bed and Bucky bit his pectoral, giving the nipple a break. His thighs were burning with the effort of balancing while he slipped another finger into Steve. He bit down on the other nipple and found the blond’s prostate, milking him for all he was worth. Bucky released Steve’s other nipple before mouthing his way up to chew on Steve’s earlobe. “Come for me, Stevie.” 

And he did. Holy shit, Steve came on cue and Bucky kissed at his neck and touched him and grew gentle as his lover rode it out. He pulled his hand out, rubbing Steve’s leg and then his hip in comfort as he allowed himself to kiss Steve’s mouth. Steve kissed back for a little bit before pulling away. “Buck,” he panted, “these… Fuck, the rope’s really tight, can you- I think I pulled too much…”

Bucky reached up to pull the knot loose like he’d practiced, but Steve had somehow managed to pull it impossibly tight and it didn’t want to come out- not with one hand anyway. “Hold on, Stevie,” Bucky whispered before rushing to the kitchen. Fuck, they’d said have safety scissors and he hadn’t done it and now-?

Bucky returned with a knife, keeping the dull side toward Steve as he tried not to stab or cut him working it into the bonds one-handed. Steve’s hands were dark red where the circulation was cut off and Bucky felt his heart beating painfully hard in his chest. It had been going so well…

Finally, he got one of the ropes cut and it all loosened. Thank fuck it had all been just one knot, at least. Bucky brought Steve’s arms down, massaging one hand and then the other. “I’m so sorry, Stevie,” he apologized. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve breathed, and Bucky couldn’t look away from the intensity of his gaze. “That was probably the best orgasm of my life- that’s how I pulled that knot so damn tight in the first place. And if you don’t fucking kiss me and cuddle me right the hell now…” 

Bucky didn’t even let him finish his sentence before their lips were pressed together and Steve was wrapping his poor arms around Bucky. “I love you so much,” Bucky breathed. 

“I know you don’t like hurting me,” Steve replied, “but I really, really want to suck you off right now.” 

“I, uh, I don’t know if…”

“Can I try?” Steve begged, and Bucky nodded because he wasn’t about to deny Steve anything. 

Steve pushed Bucky down and slunk over top of him like a predatory cat before dragging his mouth down Bucky’s stomach to nose into his sweats. Bucky huffed out a breath, unable to even pretend this wasn’t the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. Steve yanked his waistband and Bucky obediently lifted his hips so Steve could get the pants down over his ass. 

Had the sheets on their bed always been this soft or was he just hyper-aware of every touch right now? 

Steve was rubbing circles on his hip, kissing across his pelvis and, against everything he believed was possible, Bucky felt blood rushing south as his dick plumped up for the beautiful man tending to him. Suddenly Steve’s tongue was laving the underside of his cock and Bucky groaned, his eyes closing against his will- as if he wanted Steve out of his sight for even a moment. The sensation receded, returning to gentle massages on his hips and maddening tickles of Steve’s tongue teasing him until Bucky was certain he was going to die if Steve didn’t- “Please, Stevie, please-“ he begged, no longer even sure what his own name was. 

That was when Steve finally gave in, surrounding Bucky’s cock in wet, hot heat so overwhelming that he arched into Steve’s mouth so suddenly that Bucky could feel him gag. In response, Steve held Bucky’s hips down with surprising strength and went to work. The brunet made noises he didn’t even know he could make, his voice keening out his pleasure as Steve tortured him closer and closer to climax. Finally, when Bucky could take no more, Steve started humming Bucky’s favorite song of his and the vibrations undid him. He came _hard_ and Steve swallowed like a professional, sucking until the only movement left in the brunet was the effort of trying to catch his breath. “Stevie, my Stevie, fuck, please kiss me,” he begged. 

If Bucky had been touch-starved before, it was nothing compared to how badly he wanted to press himself into Steve after an orgasm like that. Bucky was so overwhelmed, he almost felt like he could cry- and there was Steve, kissing his lips and his face like he knew just how much Bucky needed it. “I love you so much, Buck,” Steve breathed, and it almost sounded like a prayer- except what they’d just done together was anything but holy. Or maybe it was the most holy experience there was. Hell if Bucky knew. 

“Love you, Stevie,” he agreed, unable to even form a correct sentence. 

Steve kissed him a bit more, but the cuddling started to outweigh the kissing until finally they were both wrapped up in each other, unmoving, and fell asleep. 

The computer person rudely awoke them later with a, “Sergeant Barnes, you have a visitor asking to see you at the front door. Shall I grant access?” 

“Uh,” Bucky mumbled. He heard the important parts, but he was heady with sleep and cuddling after what was probably the best blowjob of his life. “I have a what?” 

“A visitor, sir,” repeated the computer person. “She has been emailing the Avengers repeatedly, but it was decided to ignore the messages as we could not previously verify the source.” 

“Who the fuck is the source, computer?” Bucky grumbled. 

“Mai Kozlov,” the voice replied simply. 

“I don’t know a Kozlov.” 

“I believe you do, sir. She is the young woman from the interview which has been aired in an effort to further malign your character.” 

Steve was fully awake now, squeezing Bucky’s arm as he sat up. “JARVIS, she’s not someone we want anywhere near us.” 

“Wait,” Bucky said and Steve gave him a horrified look that he made a point not to look at. “Why has she been emailing? What does she want?” 

“Bucky, if you-“

“Stevie, if I did do what she said, then I at least owe her a face to face. She deserves-“

“Sirs, if I may interrupt,” Computer Person interrupted (Bucky was never going to call it JARVIS- what kind of name was that?). “Miss Kozlov has insisted that you are not the one who killed her mother. There is a part of her interview that was withheld from airing in which she was shown your picture and confirmed it was someone else.” 

Bucky let out the closest thing to a cry he could let out without actually crying. Steve rubbed his arm, whispering something about having known it and that almost wrecked his relief entirely. Steve could never know something like that. Bucky couldn’t even know something like that. No amount of moral fiber could get him to stop when he wasn’t in control. He wasn’t aware of any of it until later, when it was all over. 

“We’ll meet her in the conference room,” Bucky decided. He didn’t move for a long moment and Steve rubbed his back gently. “It wasn’t me,” he finally breathed. “It wasn’t… thank fuck, finally something I _didn’t_ do.” 

Steve nuzzled his shoulder. “What do you think she wants?” 

Bucky gave a tiny shrug, trying not to disturb the Steve face buried there. “Honestly, she could want a million dollars and I’d give it to her at this point.” 

“You don’t have a million dollars,” Steve snickered. 

“Yeah, but HYDRA does,” Bucky replied easily, as if it were a perfectly ordinary thing to hack into bank accounts to steal money from an evil Nazi shadow organization. 

“Okay, promise me you are not poking that bear. We don’t need them leaking any more out of context bullshit to get you in more trouble in the court of public opinion.” 

“I ain’t poking any bears,” Bucky promised with a tiny smirk. “Come on, get off me. I gotta get dressed and meet a girl.” 

“I feel so threatened,” Steve rolled his eyes, but he got up too. 

“Actually… Stevie, I… I think I need to do this alone.” 

“Oh.” Though Steve tried to hide it, the pain was evident in his voice. “That’s okay. I think Tony and Dr. Samson wanted to talk to me about something anyway, so I’ll just… You can interrupt, though. JARVIS can get me if you even think you need me…”

Bucky kissed the top of Steve’s head and looked into his eyes. “I love you so goddamn much, you little punk.” 

Steve tried to look offended, but couldn’t hide his smile quite well enough and mostly just looked adorable. “Jerk.” 

“Guilty as charged,” Bucky threw over his shoulder as he went to get some clean clothes. He needed a real shower, but he didn’t want to leave his visitor waiting for too long. Thankfully, he was pretty sure he smelled more like Steve than sex, so there was that. Bucky put in some effort, struggling into a pair of jeans (fucking buttons) that set him back a minute or two since he refused to let Steve help. Throwing on a plain t-shirt and running his fingers through his hair, Bucky slipped on some sandals and headed for the elevator. 

Steve stopped him at the apartment door. “You don’t owe anyone anything,” he told Bucky firmly. “If you feel uncomfortable or- or anything bad, call me. Please.” 

“Okay, Stevie,” Bucky agreed. “You know the same goes for me, right? Any time, anywhere.” 

Steve smiled and nodded before pressing a slow kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you in a bit.” 

It wasn’t until he was alone in the elevator that he started to feel nervous. What if Kozlov was lying? What if this was all a clever ploy to get close to him and kill him? It’d certainly solve all of his legal problems, and not too long ago Bucky would have let her, but now… Now he had Steve to think about, and it would break Steve if he died. 

By the time he got to the conference room, he was tense and ready to catch a knife with his palm. Fuck, he should have insisted Stark give him the arm even if it wasn’t ready yet…

His worst fears were confirmed when she saw him and immediately charged, her arms wrapping around him- wait, what? “What? Why? Are you?” 

She pulled away, eyes shining. “It is you. зимний волк.” 

He frowned. He didn’t recognize much, but that shook something in his head, something that seemed desperate to come loose. “I’m sorry, I don’t- My memory ain’t so good.” 

“You… forgot me?” she asked, hurt and disbelief warring for control of her expression. 

He shook his head. “Had a nightmare a few months ago. Little kid, bleeding from the head… crying and scared. Pretty sure it was you. So I… didn’t forget, just… The context is kind of foggy.” 

“It’s me,” she insisted. “мышь. You don’t remember me at all?” 

He squinted at the feeling in his brain, like something important was right there and he just couldn’t get to it. “I-I’m sorry. It ain’t you. I don’t even remember my own family. It’s not something they’re talking about on TV, but HYDRA fried my brain so many times it’s a miracle I know my own name. You don’t look much like a mouse.” 

She laughed sadly. “You weren’t like this then. You didn’t have memory problems. You told me I reminded you of your sister- Becca, you called her. Kept me safe. The man I talked about, the one who brought me to the Kozlovs, he was you.” 

Suddenly it all came rushing back with a sickening dizziness. He remembered trekking through the countryside, crossing borders with this tiny child. He remembered knowing that this was a safe house, that they’d taken care of him when… Had he escaped from HYDRA? He felt certain it had happened. He realized now that her eyes had flicked to his stump, probably without her even trying, because he had had two flesh arms in the memory. He’d been wholly flesh and bone- no metal. He’d been whole. 

“The mouse needs to be very quiet to avoid being found by the cat,” he breathed and she lit up. 

“You remember.” 

He blinked a few times. “Sometimes the, uh, the right trigger will shake something loose. I don’t remember Becca. My file doesn’t even list their names, just that I had three siblings.” 

“She was the baby,” Mai offered. “Small, but fierce. Good at hide and seek.” 

Bucky could almost picture a little girl squeezed between a wall and a table, but it wouldn’t come. The wall was hazy, and so was the table, and the little girl was just a version of the Mai that he remembered bleeding from the head and crying. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I… don’t have a lot of memories from before.” 

He could remember the way she used to look at him, small and afraid, like he was an invincible source of strength. The years had stripped that from her and she could see him now for what he was: just as scared as she was. “You look better,” she told him. “Than when they broke you out. Sorry, I hope… They’ve just been airing that clip of you arriving at the tower almost nonstop.” 

Bucky shrugged uncomfortably. “They didn’t really know what to do with me over there.” 

Why was he sugar coating it? Mai wasn’t a child. She was the same age as Steve- in terms of conscious life, probably about the same age as Bucky, too. Still, he felt this insurmountable urge to protect her, let her believe the world was a safe place. Another memory assaulted him, killing a small group of men who’d tried to abduct her- almost succeeded, too. He’d tried to do it where she wouldn’t see, but she’d followed the (albeit minimal) noise. 

“I know we don’t really know each other anymore,” she hesitated. “Apparently you don’t know me at all, and I can’t tell you much about why you took me or what happened to you after, but I do remember some things about the months you took care of me. Stories you told me. I can- I can give them back.” 

Bucky blinked away the shininess in his eyes. “I would like that.” 

“Me too,” she said, smiling shyly. “I sort of… I love my parents, but I always saw you as- I don’t know. Not a parent. Maybe a big brother. When you left, I didn’t understand. I’ve always wondered what happened to you.” 

A nervous laugh echoed back to him before he realized it was his own. “Probably best if you keep wondering,” he told her gently. “What little I remember ain’t pretty. But now I’ve got friends. I’ve got Steve. I’m better than I have any right to be.” 

“I disagree.” 

“Uh.” 

“I just mean you have every right to be- not just better- but good. I know you did a lot of terrible things, but I know who you are when you’re not brainwashed. That man deserves something good. I want to help.” 

“So tell me about my sister,” he suggested. 

“I’ll tell you all the Becca stories you ever told-“

“I meant you,” Bucky interrupted. “You said I was like a big brother. I brought you to southeast Russia. You’re in America. Tell me about it.” 

She gave him that shy, bewildered smile again and cleared her throat. “Okay. But first, let me finish, okay? I want to help your case. The way I see it, that interview’s wrecked a lot for you. I came across your videos with Steve when I was trying to find your contact information and I’d like to do that. Make one of those, uh- Videos. Stand next to you. Tell everyone who you really are. I’ve tried contacting press and other news, but they all either think I’m lying about who I am or they don’t think it’ll be as good for their ratings as tearing you down.” 

Bucky wanted to make some kind of snarky comment about new people or ratings, but he was mostly struck dumb by her offer. With a shaky smile, he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. But first tell me about your life. Tell me all the good and the bad, but especially the good.” Bucky couldn’t keep the emotion from his eyes as he made the request. She was a fully fledged human being who wouldn’t be standing here if he hadn’t stood up to HYDRA, and- fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Bucky dropped to his knees as the memory overwhelmed him. They’d taken him when he was on an errand- hadn’t found her or her new family, thank fuck- and his arm had been the punishment. They wiped him hard, tortured him in ways he wished he didn’t have to remember. He remembered them slowly peeling the skin from his left arm, mutilating the muscles and then experimenting with his nervous system to develop the prototype. They’d made him a lab experiment because he’d made himself expendable. 

“Computer person,” Bucky panted. “Please ask Steve to- to come down.” 


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky had made it from the floor to a chair and was doing a valiant job of pretending he was okay (though still a pretty transparent one to Mai, who was no longer four) by the time Steve finally arrived. There was a tightness around those blue eyes that said he was worried about the brunet, but Steve just smiled a little and tried to be normal. 

Bucky loved that punk so much. 

Without a significant pause, Steve slotted himself behind the chair and kissed the top of Bucky’s head, remaining a solid presence behind him. “Hi,” he greeted, holding a hand out for her to shake. “I’m Steve.” 

“Mai,” she said as she took the hand and Bucky was pretty sure neither of them really needed to tell the other who they were, but it was something he loved about Steve- that he always treated people like they were truly meeting for the first time, like he didn’t expect his reputation to precede him. “I was telling, uh, Bucky-“ she stumbled over his first name, and he knew it was because she’d wanted to use the Russian name she was used to, and he truly wanted to know what he’d been thinking to let her call him Winter Wolf. “-that they didn’t air all of my interview. None of the networks I’ve been in contact with are interested in hearing the rest of the story, that he was the one who saved me from the man who killed my parents.” 

Steve’s grip tightened on Bucky’s shoulder, grounding him a little and the tension left him a little. Steve was here. Everything was fine now. “That sounds like the interview of a lifetime. Why wouldn’t they-?”

She sighed. “Honestly? It could be they don’t think the story’s as good or that they couldn’t verify my identity, but… now that I really, really think about it… HYDRA is everywhere, isn’t it?” 

Bucky leaned his head against Steve’s arm. “Guess I pissed them off one time too many,” he laughed miserably. 

She filled Steve in on the plan and Bucky let them talk for a few minutes while he tried to get a second wind. It had been a while since that many memories had flooded him at once, and he felt like he’d been knocked on his ass just a little too hard. 

He didn’t even realize his eyes were shut until he felt Steve caressing his cheekbone. He was too tired to even be startled by the unforeseen touch. “Sorry,” he mumbled, blinking his way back to awareness. “Memories coming back like that, uh… It’s a trip.” 

Steve was rubbing his shoulder gently and Bucky wondered if he wanted to curl up together as badly as Bucky did. Fuck, he wanted to cuddle Steve into next week right now, and it was mostly because he hadn’t been done when the computer person woke them up, but it was also the bone-weary tiredness that wanted him to stop being conscious. “You want to make the video tomorrow?” Steve suggested. 

Bucky shook his head. “Mai, if you’re ready, we should just do it. Not make you brave those picket lines any more than you have to. Plus, they’re probably gonna want to know if you killed me or something when you go out. We can probably get someone to sneak you out the back, actually…”

She smiled at him a little, and he wondered how different he was to who she remembered. Had he been someone to babble when tired? Had he been someone who even got tired? His memory suggested he was a machine that only rested when they put him in cryo, but that couldn’t be right. Even a brainwashed machine had to sleep. 

Steve insisted they bring Pepper in on the whole thing, so that was another ten minutes they had to wait, but it was a good ten minutes. Mai told him about the young ambassadors program she’d done, the scholarships she’d gotten, how she was now an official translator who worked with multiple embassies. She’d travelled all over the world and loved what she did. By the time Pepper was deciding that Mai should sit on his right so that his stump was clearly visible, he was smiling faintly. All he’d done was take her some place safe, so he hadn’t done much, but he still felt like her success was at least a little bit his success. He barely remembered her, but she felt like part of the family he couldn’t remember at all. He was… proud of her, he realized. 

He listened to her tell her story in full, knew Pepper was hiding him until she said she’d like to introduce everyone to the man she’d mentioned, knew Pepper had the camera pan out melodramatically, that he was probably caught staring at her like a proud older brother. “This is James Buchanan Barnes. You know him as the Winter Soldier, of which there is more than one. His friends know him as Bucky, but I know him as the Winter Wolf. He kept me safe from the Winter Soldier who actually killed my parents. He kept me safe when strangers tried to take me away on our journey. He took me to people he knew, people who had helped him before. He took me to the people I would come to call mother and father, who taught me the value of hard work and supported me in everything. He risked everything to go against the others and, I think, paid very dearly for it.” 

Bucky avoided her eyes, looking away as he felt his cheeks heat up. He was probably supposed to say something. Thankfully, no one forced him and the silence went on too long. “I just want it on the record that Sergeant Barnes had both of the arms he was born with when he helped me. He did not lose them in his fall from the train as many suspected. He may not remember-“

“I do,” he interrupted. “And I want to state for the record that our government, UNITE or whatever they’re calling themselves, they didn’t even bother to do a rudimentary scan of my arm before removing it. If they had, they would have realized that HYDRA had made my arm an experiment, that it was wired into my nervous system. Not very long after the Avengers rescued me from them- and I am saying rescued, not broke out. Rescued. After they rescued me, Tony Stark performed surgery on my shoulder to remove the remaining connections. The people holding me didn’t even clean up after themselves. They ripped my arm off without any kind of sedative or numbing agent. I almost bled to death before they could even properly lock me up.” 

Mai’s hand was in his and he reluctantly met her eyes. They were shining with moisture. She turned back to the camera- which was really just Pepper’s phone. “Sergeant Barnes has been grossly mistreated and grossly mischaracterized by news media. He is one of the best people I have had the pleasure to meet, and I have met many great, important people. He deserves our support, and he certainly does not deserve to be locked up- either by our government or by the picket lines of hateful people shouting vile things just outside this tower.” 

“That was great,” Pepper said, sensing the finality in the statement. 

“Thank you,” Bucky said softly to Mai. He took in an unsteady breath. “I’m so… Knowing how well things turned out for you, it. It helps.” 

She hugged him and he hugged her back for a long moment before he turned to ask Pepper a question and realized she was still filming. “Pepper, are you still-?”

“Yep, that thank you at the end is really going to do nothing but add to your story.” 

“Pepper.” 

“Especially this part, where you’re so humble and self-sacrificing and private that you want me to delete it, so people will suddenly understand how much of you they don’t get to see.” 

“Pepper.” 

“Yes, Bucky, I will paint you as the soft, cuddly teddy bear you are, thank you for asking me.” 

She finally dropped the camera and he realized his face was on fire. With a sympathetic squeeze to his shoulder, she said, “This is honestly really good, Bucky. If you really don’t want me to post something, I won’t. But I think some more personal stuff will really help- at least in terms of PR. If we make a big enough stink, the verdict won’t even matter. People will want you free. You’re not a danger.” 

Wasn’t he? He still had active triggers in his head- and if the two HYDRA had used last year were ones Bucky didn’t know about, who was to say he didn’t have others? Worse ones? Now that Bucky knew what one of the other Winter Soldiers had done to Mai’s mother, he wondered if there was a switch in his brain that could make him do the same. 

“Barnes,” Pepper interrupted, apparently sensing where his brain had gone. “You’re not who they think you are. That’s the whole problem. They think you’re a monster. You’re not. Just give me the go-ahead. I’ve been making Tony look good for years and he’s actually kind of a jackass. You’re an absolute sweetheart. This’ll be a cakewalk.” 

Bucky glanced sideways at Steve. All he saw there was support and that, if nothing else, was a reason to get over himself and let them help him. Steve deserved someone who would be there, and who wasn’t dragging them both to hell. “Okay,” he said, voice hoarse with his own discomfort. Apparently he liked his privacy as much as Steve did. Maybe more. Bucky hated the thought that complete strangers were going to see him vulnerable. He’d said the thing about his arm because he knew it would help- and he’d been angry as he said it. The rest… there hadn’t been any anger. He’d been Bucky, and that was probably what Pepper was getting at. 

There was nothing more terrifying than knowing that, after this, the people yelling terrible things at them from the street would be yelling them at _Bucky_ and not just the idea of his past. 

Mai squeezed his hand and stood. “I have to get going, but I’m really glad we did this,” she told him- and he believed her. “We should do… not this, but something. Real. I know it’s been a long time, but I’d really like to know you properly, зимний волк.” 

He smiled a little at the name. He shouldn’t like it, but he did. “When I’m free, you’re invited to the party,” he promised. 

“When you’re free,” she agreed. Taking his hand and wrapping it in hers one last time, she met his eyes and held them fiercely. “Thank you.” 

Bucky nodded and made some kind of noise around the tightness in his throat. She understood anyway and headed out. Bucky blinked away the moisture in his eyes as Steve hugged him from behind. Bucky leaned back into the embrace and cleared his throat. 

“Now _that_ I wish I’d been filming,” Pepper remarked before Bucky could think of a way to break the sudden silence. 

“You’re not planning on filming everything, right? I don’t want to be some reality TV star,” he told her without bothering to open his eyes. He was too damn tired. 

“Not _everything_ , no.” 

Bucky really hated the tone he heard in her voice. 

It was a relief to hear her leave, and even more of a relief to feel Steve sit down next to him and press into his side. Bucky curled his arm around the blond protectively, feeling two arms’ worth of reciprocated protection. “I love you so damn much,” he sighed and then breathed Steve in. 

“I love you too. And I believe we were in the middle of some very important cuddling before all this commotion.” 

“Glad we’re back at it,” Bucky agreed sleepily. “Pretty sure we’ve got some lost time to make up for.” 

“You know what I’d really like to do?” Steve asked, and Bucky had a feeling the answer was going to kill him. 

“I’m gonna regret asking, but what?” 

Steve nuzzled him and kissed Bucky’s neck before whispering in his ear, “You look really stressed, and I want to take all of that stress and suck it out through your dick.” 

Bucky choked. “Jesus Christ, Stevie-!”

Rubbing Bucky’s waist, Steve chuckled innocently and his breath tickled goosebumps down the brunet’s neck. “So, is that a yes, or-?”

“Not here,” Bucky replied in horror. He wasn’t saying no to something like that- especially coming from Steve, that was for damn sure- but he was still pretty tired and wouldn’t mind just cuddling and going back to sleep. 

“Tell me where you want me,” Steve’s breath tickled his ear. 

Bucky shuddered. “Bed.” 

Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s temple and then drew around to his lips, his tongue meeting the brunet’s for the slowest, filthiest kiss they’d had. “Bed now,” Bucky corrected, though his dick was still only thinking about being interested. 

Steve purposely placed himself on Bucky’s left so that he had to reach to hold Bucky’s hand as they walked to the elevator. He kept “accidentally” brushing the front of Bucky’s pants so that by the time they got there, Bucky’s dick had made up its mind and was definitely, definitely interested. He waited for the doors to close and then pressed Steve against the wall, kissing him hard in the way he’d learned Steve really liked. Those eyelashes fluttered and he gave Bucky that innocent fucking smile, like he couldn’t decide if he was confused about the attention or so turned on his brain had shut off. 

Maybe both. 

Bucky was finding himself to be a little of both. Steve’s palm was suddenly on Bucky’s cock and he groaned almost painfully at the muted feel through the sweatpants. He wanted Steve’s skin on his skin, kissing him and writhing against each other until he forgot whose body was whose. Steve pulled away abruptly as the elevator pinged and when the doors open, they were both flushed and it was obvious what they’d been doing. Thankfully they didn’t run into anyone between the elevator and their rooms, so there was no mortification to pull them out of it and soon Bucky had Steve pinned to the wall as the blond eagerly pulled Bucky’s shirt up. Good. Skin. Skin was coming. 

He reached for Steve, sliding his hand up the offending shirt until their bare stomachs were touching. A functional second arm would be useful for this part, but he had to let go to allow Steve to get the shirt over Bucky’s head anyway. He tugged again, barely letting Steve get the thing off before he was pressed against the blond, kissing them both stupid. 

Steve’s hands were on his hips and he felt as Steve slowly curled his fingers into his waistband, tugging a little experimentally before pulling seriously and somehow maneuvering them so that the brunet was suddenly pressed up against the wall and fuck there was a fierce look in Steve’s eye that went straight to Bucky’s spasming cock as he said, “I’m taking care of you this time.” 

Fucking goddamn hell _fuck_.

Bucky made an abbreviated noise that was probably the whimpered equivalent of the string of profanity running through his brain as Steve suddenly slowed everything down. His fingers slid up Bucky’s hips, past his waist, feather light trails being painted up his ribs by Steve’s finger tips before they expertly dodged his nipples to reach the destination of his shoulders. He leaned against Bucky and how the hell did it not seem ridiculous as Steve stood on his tiptoes to press his lips to Bucky’s? 

The kiss was simultaneously too long and cut short. It was agony letting Steve kiss him sweet and gentle as if they didn’t both have raging hard-ons and Bucky kept trying to deepen it, but Steve wouldn’t let him. Bucky truly thought there was no greater torture until Steve pulled away entirely. His thumbs rubbed circles on Bucky’s shoulders as he just… _looked_. God, he looked at Bucky like he was some kind of puzzle with a prize in the middle and all Bucky wanted was to be solved. It seemed like all Steve wanted to do was think about it. 

Finally, Steve seemed to make up his mind and his mouth was on Bucky’s neck, and he was sucking a mark there that should have hurt, but the noises he heard himself making had nothing to do with pain. He tried to arch away from the wall, wanting Steve pressed against him, but Steve pushed him back and bit a little in warning. Bucky’s cock whimpered- no wait, Bucky whimpered. His cock just did the silent equivalent. 

Steve pulled away just long enough to meet Bucky’s eyes and confirm it was a good whimper before moving to his chest, first sucking marks into his pecs and then biting. “Stevie-“ Bucky begged. He was coming apart in ways he didn’t know he could. Steve bit down into the flesh of his chest- _hard_ and Bucky’s knees buckled. If he didn’t have the wall to help support him, he would be on the floor after that. The noise he made was obscene and it was really fucking good their rooms were sound proofed. Steve finally pressed into him, kissing him for all he was worth, walking backward and pulling Bucky to the bedroom. 

Right. He’d told Steve bed. 

Why had he told Steve that? Bed was so far away. 

Steve bit Bucky’s lower lip and Bucky stopped caring where they were or how far away the bed was. He barely noticed when Steve backed him into it until the blond took his mouth back and Bucky was left leaning forward in an effort to find something besides air to kiss. Slowly, his eyes blinked open and his gaze dropped to where Steve was on his knees beside the bed, waiting for Bucky’s attention. Only then did he start to tug Bucky’s waistband down, freeing his cock- fuck, the thing was dark red, no wonder he needed Steve so bad. He started to say something sappy- probably about Steve’s eyes, the way he looked up at Bucky from the floor under those eyelashes- but his entire brain went white as Steve swallowed his cock without warning. 

Steve was holding Bucky’s hips, but that didn’t stop him from unintentionally thrusting up. He could feel Steve gag a little at the unexpected movement, but he made no move to release Bucky’s dick. Steve was still, his cheeks hollowed and lips flush with the base of Bucky’s member. He was waiting again, and as soon as Bucky met his eyes, Steve _swallowed_ around him. Bucky almost tore the blanket he was gripping, letting out what almost sounded like a sob. Steve pulled off and Bucky felt the tickle of air from Steve’s nose as he caught his breath. He didn’t give Bucky a break though- Steve’s tongue was doing obscene things to his tip, bobbing shallowly. “Fuck, Stevie-“ Bucky cried as he felt the warmth of Steve’s throat again. He managed not to thrust this time, but only barely. His own breathing was coming in harshly, almost a keening noise as he forced himself to look back down at Steve’s beautiful lips stretched around him. Steve did the swallowing trick again and that was it for Bucky. He came so hard his vision went as white as his brain and when he came back to himself, Steve was still at it. It was almost painful with how sensitive he was, and there was a smirk in Steve’s eye like this had been his plan all along, like he just wanted to see how many times a super soldier could come without a break to recover. 

Steve edged him mercilessly until those blue eyes were watering and Bucky almost couldn’t feel anything at all, and then finally Steve released him into the cold. He pushed the brunet back and climbed onto his lap, grinding their hips together. Steve might not have been wearing jeans, but those sweatpants weren’t exactly smooth. He pushed at Steve’s waistband and Steve pushed his hand away. “I’m taking care of _you_ ,” he reminded Bucky, and his voice was rough and raw in a way Bucky had never heard before. He whimpered, not knowing where this was coming from or how Steve knew exactly how much was too much. 

“Fucking _Christ_ ,” Bucky moaned as Steve started sucking at the bite on his chest. Finally, the sweatpants were gone and Steve reached for the lube they’d left carelessly on the nightstand, slicking Bucky liberally and then reaching behind to slick himself. “Stevie-“

“I’m taking care of you,” Steve insisted before seating himself without any preparation. Judging by his grimace, it hadn’t been the best idea, but he leaned forward into Bucky’s neck as he started to move little by little. Bucky really hoped it wasn’t because he was in pain and didn’t want Bucky to see. Steve huffed against him and ground out, “Fuck, Buck.” 

He couldn’t help it. He laughed a little, breathless with the best sex he could remember, but he laughed. Steve let out a breathy chuckle as well. “Shut up, I’m trying to fuck your brains out.” 

“You already did,” Bucky agreed. “No brains left, just- oh, fuck!” 

Steve’s teeth were kneading the skin over his collarbone as he started to really grind his hips. Bucky reached for him and thank fuck Steve didn’t stop him this time. Bucky needed to touch, needed to grip Steve’s hip as he straightened up to get more leverage. Bucky let his eyes stroll along Steve’s beautiful fucking chest- only a few lingering marks marring its smoothness- until they locked eyes and Bucky started rising to meet Steve’s thrusts. Steve put a hand on Bucky’s lower stomach as if to remind him who was in charge and the thought almost sent him over the edge. Still, he could follow orders- even nonverbal ones. He held his hips as still as he could and chanced that he was allowed to rub Steve’s thighs as he moved. Steve didn’t stop him from that. Good. 

Bucky moved higher, rubbing Steve’s hips, loving the slow blink that was at odds with his fast breathing. Bucky had worried about Steve’s breathing the first few times they’d had sex, but he stopped when he realized that Steve knew his limits. Accidents happened, but that was why they kept an emergency inhaler in the nightstand. He wasn’t worried about anything now except the feel of Steve’s body on his own, and about whether Steve was going to stop him as he reached a hand to start jerking Steve off as he rode Bucky like… fuck, Bucky was too far gone to think of witty metaphors. “Bucky,” Steve whined, but he only leaned forward to go harder. 

Bucky let out a pained noise as he thrust unintentionally and Steve moaned his name again. Fuck, this was hot. Fuck, he loved this man. Fuck, he was coming, painting Steve’s insides as he continued to pump his hips. Bucky stroked faster, wanting Steve to join him in feeling completely fucked out and boneless. “I love you so fucking much, Stevie,” he panted, and either that did it or Steve had already been right on the edge. Shuddering, Steve collapsed onto Bucky’s chest and then kissed him desperately, his hips still rolling slightly. “I love you,” Bucky repeated and Steve nodded, mumbling incoherent agreement. Bucky rubbed Steve’s back and thigh as he finally stopped moving, and turned his head to rest against the blond catching his breath in the crook of Bucky’s neck. 

“My Bucky,” Steve said, the first coherent words since he came. The casual ownership made him shiver a little. 

“Your Bucky,” he agreed. 

With a groan, Steve rolled off of Bucky, presumably so they could get onto the bed properly instead of almost hanging off of it, but neither of them made any further move to do so. With a myoclonic jolt, Bucky realized he was falling asleep with his sweats around his thighs, and his calves dangling over the edge of the bed. He could sleep that way, but he knew he’d regret it when he woke up cold and confused later. Dragging himself up the bed, he nudged his lover from his similar state of near-sleep. “Stevie, I need a blanket,” he stated, as if Steve was the only option for such a task. Steve mumbled something that presumably meant _Yes, of course, I am the most adorable fucking musician on the goddamn planet when I’m sleepy,_ and crawled up to wrap himself around the brunette. 

Bucky was just about to settle in when Steve touched the one bite he’d left that hadn’t quite started to fade. “This one’s… not good.” 

Bucky shrugged a little and kissed the top of Steve’s head. “It’ll be gone before we wake up. Super soldier, advanced healing, you remember.” 

Steve rubbed it gently, like he was trying to apologize, so Bucky grabbed his fingertips and kissed them softly. “Sleep, Stevie. You’re tired.” 

Steve nodded against Bucky’s shoulder and scooted up the bed so that his chest was at eye level. “I’m taking care of you today, remember?” he reminded the brunette. Bucky complied easily, curling against Steve and resting his head on the heart he was fairly certain had been given to him at least metaphorically. Steve hugged him tight and it was the best sleep Bucky was capable of having-

Until he heard Tony Stark’s lowered voice. 

“If this is what a cold blooded killer looks like, then-“

Stark stopped speaking for a brief second as he realized Bucky was moving and turning to look at him. “Okay, time to go,” he mumbled and Bucky realized he had a phone pointed at them. 

“What the fuck, Tony?” Bucky demanded and Steve started to stir. “Are you filming us?” 

“Pepper said ‘prove he’s a teddy bear!’ This is definitely Pepper’s fault!” he called back as he continued to beat a hasty retreat. 

Bucky groaned as he buried his face in Steve again. “Computer, can you keep Stark out of our apartment?” he asked. 

“I am afraid my protocols do not allow me to place limitations on Mr. Stark,” came the reply from on high. “His authority overwrites any existing requests.” 

Bucky sighed and Steve half-laughed as he scratched Bucky’s spine. “We’ll corner him and make him delete it later,” Steve promised. 

“I better do it now before he has the chance to do something with it,” the brunette muttered darkly. 

“Pepper promised nothing would go up without your go-ahead,” he reminded Bucky. “Stay. Sleep. Please.” 

Bucky stayed for a few more minutes, but he didn’t trust Stark enough to be able to rest until he’d made sure that footage was gone. It was theirs. His and Steve’s. That Stark had seen them together like that, let alone _filmed_ it was repulsive. 

Carefully, he extracted himself from Steve’s grip, thrilled to realize he’d managed to do it without waking him. Placing a gentle kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead, Bucky made himself fit for being seen (by Stark at least) and headed down to level three, where the computer said he was. The only trouble was that Stark had news coverage on. It was about his video with Mai, but instead of positive, they were accusing him of exploiting her tragedy and of faking the part Pepper left on at the end- the part he clearly should never have agreed to let her keep. They were even questioning whether or not they’d found a Mai lookalike, or if Stark had simply paid her an obscene amount of money to make up for her murdered parents and lie while sitting right next to him. 

They then began to speculate on how terrible it must have been for her to sit next to the man who had done that to her mother. 

Bucky stalked into the room and grabbed Stark’s phone. “Delete it,” he demanded. 

“Already sent it to Pepper, Terminator,” Stark shrugged, as if he didn’t see the absolute glare of murder in Bucky’s eye. “She’s probably already got it edited.” 

“But I never said it was okay- that’s private, that’s between me and Steve-“

“Yeah, I may have told her you gave the okay,” Stark replied. “Don’t worry, that stuff is gold. The fact that you two cuddle like Rogers is protecting _you_ , I mean, my god. Aside from the Westboro Baptist Jerks, who can resist that?” 

As if Fox heard him, there was a sudden interruption of the besmirchment of his character to announce that another video had been posted, that they had not prescreened it as it was only seconds old, that they’d take every precaution to censor anything inappropriate, but that this was completely live and to use discretion as a viewer. 

Bucky felt absolutely sick when he realized the footage was not of that morning. His fist clenched as Stark’s voice started whispering from the video, “Honestly, I was not expecting this, but this probably proves the point better. I mean, Jesus Christ, look at the way he’s literally holding Steve’s hand over his heart. They’re like freaking otters. You know how otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart? And the government wants to separate these two sea puppies. Shameful.” 

It cut again to that morning, but this time the commentary was about Steve, asking how anyone could want to take away his _Bucky Bear_. He was too angry to even give Stark a judgmental look. They cut off just as Stark started to ask the part that Bucky had overheard before he woke up to find the billionaire filming them. “See? That was great,” Stark said just as the anchors began to discuss how disgusting homosexuality was- and then how repulsive it was that Steve Rogers would take up with him, how disgraceful that Steve would debase himself, what a good thing it was that his career was over now that he was this disgusting thing. 

Bucky saw red and turned on Stark. Thank fuck he didn’t have the metal arm, or he might have killed him with that punch. “That was private!” he yelled. “It wasn’t yours to-“

“Tony, I think-“ They both looked up as Pepper came in, presumably to talk about the footage and saw Bucky about one wrong move from murder. “Bucky?” She sounded confused and hesitant, like she was approaching a beloved family pet who’d gone rabid and wanted to know if it could be subdued or had to get shot. 

“This was never supposed to touch Steve,” he said, and heard tears in his voice as he realized what was really bothering him. It wasn’t having his privacy invaded. He’d already accepted that his life was now a tool and that his enemies were going to use it whether they did or not. He hadn’t accepted that Steve’s life had to suffer the same fate. 

“Okay,” Pepper agreed, and now Bucky felt like she was trying to disarm a bomb. “Why don’t you put the wrench down and we’ll talk about the idea I was about to run by Tony?” 

Oh. Bucky looked at the heavy tool in his hand, only just realizing he’d picked it up. He put it down and went to sit on a stool at the far end of the workstation from Stark. The room was still tense, but Bucky ignored it in favor of hunching his shoulders and pretending he hadn’t only barely stopped crying. “What do you want me to do?” 

She waited for him to make eye contact (like Steve had yesterday, why was everyone so obsessed with his eye contact?) before speaking in a much more normal, confident voice. “I want you to do an interview- and let me get the whole pitch before you think about it, okay? So far, we’ve been trying to get your story out, show you as a person, as the non-violent person you are. That’s still the goal, but right now the nutjobs Tony likes to watch aren’t the only ones trying to paint what we’re doing as staged. With an interview, they can still say you’re lying, but an interview will reach people the candid stuff won’t. We’ll pick an interviewer we’ve worked with before, there won’t be any surprise questions. It’ll be a controlled environment, so you’ll have time to think about what you want to say without being thrown off guard.” 

Bucky really only cared about one outcome: “Will it take attention away from Steve?” 

“With the right questions and answers, we can do almost anything we want.” 

“Then why didn’t we do this sooner?” he grumbled. 

She sighed. “We didn’t want to push you. It didn’t seem necessary. Does it matter?” 

Bucky blinked. “No.” 

“So what do you think?” 

“I think Steve deserves better and if an interview can help, then I’ll do it.” 

“Good.” 

“And if Stark films us together again, I am going to murder him,” Bucky added calmly. 

He was distinctly pleased by the confused look Pepper sent in the billionaire’s direction. Stark was definitely in trouble now. 


	8. Chapter 8

It didn’t matter how much Pepper assured him that Karen Page was on their team. It didn’t matter that they’d spent almost two months preparing for this. Bucky was nervous and he didn’t like interviews. He didn’t like talking about his past, especially the parts he couldn’t remember, and she seemed most interested in those parts- or that he didn’t remember. Fuck, he was ready to puke. 

And then suddenly he saw Steve in the makeup mirror coming up behind him, draping his arms over Bucky’s shoulders around his front. “You’re gonna be fine,” he said. “You look like you’re about to crawl out of your skin. Stop it.” 

“I ain’t about to-“ Bucky shivered and about turned into a puddle as Steve kissed the back of his neck. 

“Can’t kiss your lips,” the blond explained. “Might mess up your makeup.” 

There was a teasing tone to his voice, but Bucky didn’t care. Back-of-the-neck-kisses had just become his favorite fucking thing. “You’re forgiven if you do that a couple more times.” Steve’s lips slid against the top of his spine and Bucky melted again. “Couple… hundred.” 

Steve’s laugh tickled his hairline and that didn’t help Bucky solidify from all the melting in any way. “You’re gonna be fine,” he assured the brunet. “Karen’s going to ask all the right questions, and if you just tell the truth, all people are gonna see is the beautiful man I’m in love with.” 

“All I care about is those assholes leaving you the fuck alone,” he grumbled. “I might’ve agreed to this, but you didn’t sign up for it at all. You deserve better than what those assholes are saying about you.” 

Bucky could feel Steve’s frown, even if he couldn’t see it in the mirror. “Bucky… you know I’d do anything for you, right?” 

“You trying to scare me, pal?” he asked. 

Steve kissed the back of his neck again. Dammit. “The opposite,” Steve promised. 

“You know I can’t think straight when you do that, right?” 

“That’s the point,” Steve laughed, doing it again. “Just be yourself, Buck. I can deal with all of this as long as I get to keep you when it’s over. You’re worth far more than a few rude comments.” 

Bucky gave him a teary look in the mirror, his hand resting on top of Steve’s over his heart. “Fuck, Stark was right,” he realized. In answer to Steve’s unspoken question, he explained, “We do hold hands over my heart.” 

Steve laughed and flattened his palm heavily against Bucky’s chest. “Well, he can have that one. You feel any better?” 

v “Mostly,” he agreed, grudgingly. “Not thinking about it helps.” 

In response, Steve kissed him again and Bucky realized he’d created a monster and Steve was going to use this weakness against him forever. 

He was really looking forward to it. 

“Come on,” Steve said and took Bucky’s hand to tug him out of the chair. Once Bucky was on his feet, Steve sacrificed their hand hold in favor of slipping an arm around the ex-assassin’s waist as they walked to the actual set. Seeing Pepper approach them with a forced air of calm and a tight smile about undid every good Steve had achieved in the past few minutes, but the squeeze on his hip and solid presence at his side helped. He gripped Steve’s shoulder in response and waited for the bad news. 

“Just a small change of plan,” Pepper told him, as if it was no big deal. Well, at least she hadn’t run up to him apologizing as if the apocalypse was coming. “It’s still all the same questions, no surprises. The only thing is the network insisted we use a more established face to interview you. It’s still our network that we picked, so no one here has a goal of doing anything but making this interview a success. You’ll just be talking to a different person. Same conversation.” 

Bucky let her words sink in. “So why do you seem so nervous about it?” 

“He has a bit of a reputation for going off script, but we reminded the network that this interview was contingent on approved questions and that if he does go off script, they will never get another interview with any Avenger ever again.” 

“I’m not an Avenger,” Bucky reminded her, falling back on humor in a way that felt very familiar. 

“You’re an Avenger,” she rolled her eyes. “You just like to pretend you aren’t because we never made a big deal.” 

“That prison breakout was a pretty big deal,” Bucky replied. 

“Oh, we did that for Steve,” Pepper answered easily. “That wasn’t an Avenger thing.” 

Bucky laughed nervously. “It was an Avenger thing,” Steve said quietly. 

“Mm, but if we tell him that,” Pepper replied thoughtfully, “he might get an ego and we want the humble Bucky we’re used to on camera, so…”

“Alright, I get it,” Bucky replied. “Now kiss me- fuck the makeup, Stevie- and let’s get this thing over with.” 

Bucky took the taste of Steve’s toothpaste with him to the seat. The set was sparse, with a plain background behind them and only the two chairs. They weren’t exactly easy chairs, but they were several steps above the folding metal things he’d gotten used to during his initial reintegration. The seats were slightly padded and so were the arms, though it was still a frame of metal rails that didn’t really make him comfortable at all. “Sergeant,” came the greeting. Bucky looked at the guy. He was older, white, had reddish blond hair, and wore a suit that definitely looked like something a news interviewer would wear. Bucky hated him. He didn’t know why, but something deep inside him knew that this man was evil to his core. He leaned forward, winning smile in place, and said, “Alexander, but you can call me Alex if it’s easier.” 

He was tempted to tell Alex that he could call him Sergeant Barnes, but they’d agreed already that his nickname humanized him, drew on his friendship to Captain America (a relationship he really didn’t want any more speculation about- from anyone, including himself), and made him seem less serious, less threatening. So he bit down on his pride, ignored every instinct that told him to run, and said, “Bucky.” 

They shook hands and Bucky managed to not wipe his hand on his jeans. (The jeans were also a careful decision- casual, civilian, not soldier but not sweatpants. There was even a question he was supposed to answer about them that he, of course, hated.) They were given a wave to indicate that they were about to go live (another thing he fucking hated about this) and he forced as genuine a smile as he could onto his face. Alex did the same, only he actually seemed at ease. 

“Welcome to Secret Empire,” Alex began, “where we break down the Empire of tyranny secret by secret. Tonight we have Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, a.k.a. the Winter Soldier, a.k.a. Bucky. How are you doing tonight, Bucky?” 

Oh, good. Already a question he hadn’t been prepped for. “I’m fine,” he replied, because that was what you were supposed to say, even if it was a lie. 

“Really?” Alex pressed, and Bucky knew his face had done the murder-thing Stark was always complaining about. “I only mean that, you’ve got a lot of people breathing down your neck. Just getting this interview set up was a logistical nightmare. I guess I’d be wearing something casual and comfortable like jeans, too.” 

“Next time you wear jeans, try buttoning them with only one hand and tell me then how casual they are.” 

His voice was bitter. This wasn’t the interview he was supposed to give. Seeing Alex had set him off in a bad way and not knowing why was making it worse. Alex laughed like Bucky had told a charming joke. Well, at least one of them was getting it right. “I guess that’s true. So by now, everyone has heard about your trial being moved up to next week. How has that bit of news affected things?” 

Bucky took in a deep breath to try to get himself in check and let out a sigh. “Honestly, it’s kind of a relief,” he replied. “I don’t know for certain how it’s going to go, but at least I won’t have to worry about it anymore.” 

“What worries you about it?” 

Fuck Alex and fuck his complete disregard for what Bucky had been prepped for. This was not the goddamn arrangement. They should’ve just done it two months ago for all the fucking planning that was being ignored. 

“Well, for one, I’m worried about the questions they’re gonna ask me. Some of the answers are gonna be things I can’t answer.” 

Good. That was good. That was a good answer. It was the kind of answer he was supposed to give to one of the _pre-prepared questions_. “Because of your memory issues,” Pierce nodded sagely. “How much of your life do you remember? Before you became the Winter Soldier?” 

Bucky knew what the question was, but he also knew that there was a very specific phrasing they were supposed to use and Pierce had just fucked it up. “I didn’t become the Winter Soldier,” he corrected calmly. “I was made into him. According to the files we have, the first kill I was forced to make was in the sixties. I was already a trained soldier in the army. The only thing they could have been doing to me over those almost two decades, is trying to break me.” 

“Is that something you remember?” 

Fuck, Bucky felt like he was on trial. “I get… They’re not exactly memories, but just these kind of flashes.” 

“Of what?” 

“I remember them cutting off my arm,” Bucky replied flatly. “A lot of people assume I lost it when I supposedly fell from that train and died. I didn’t.” 

“Neither of those things,” Alex agreed. “If your arm was intact after your accident, why would they remove it?” 

Bucky swallowed. This was a planned question. He was supposed to talk about this. It didn’t make it any easier. “Before, um. Before I went off book to, uh. To rescue Mai. I think I operated purely on a fear-based system, doing what they wanted to avoid punishment. So when I stopped doing what they wanted…”

“They punished you.” 

Bucky looked up, his chest clenching painfully. He knew Alex. He didn’t know how he knew Alex, but he did. The look in his eyes was predatory, and Bucky was the only one close enough to see it. Were the cameras even on Alex at this point? He felt warm, too warm, and he needed to get himself under control. “Y-yeah,” he agreed. “They wanted to figure out the human nervous system, how to enhance their soldiers. That stunt put me at the bottom of the list. I wasn’t expendable, but I became less valuable.” 

“What would you say to the people who suggest you should have pulled that kind of stunt sooner?” 

“I’d ask them how much pain and torture they’d be willing to endure, but lucky for them they aren’t enhanced with the super serum that I am. What little I can remember is something that would kill an ordinary person.” 

“Like what?” Alex prompted and Bucky felt sick, like the man was getting off on the idea of Bucky’s agony. 

“Like stuff I don’t want the people who care about me to have to think about,” he bit out. “HYDRA tortured me until I was willing to do anything, and then when it turned out I still had limits, they started frying my brain before missions and sticking me in cryo when they didn’t need me. Between the electroshock and the freezer burn, I had to read in a file that I even had a family. Mai, someone who knew me for a couple months when she was practically a baby herself, knows more about my sisters than I do. Hell, she knew my sister was called Becca instead of Rebecca before I did. I found out my own birthday because one of the people in my life now, one of them made me a cake.” 

Alex didn’t look moved, and Bucky hadn’t expected him to. “And what about the people in your life now? There are a lot of people suggesting your relationship with Steve Rogers-“

Bucky didn’t even let him finish. “My relationship with Steve Rogers is no one’s business but ours. Neither of us agreed to share that footage or even have it filmed- something which has been discussed with the people responsible for posting it online. I’m aware that because of what HYDRA did to me, I’m going to have to sacrifice my own privacy for a chance to get my life back, but the people in my life deserve to keep theirs.” 

“You are very clear that being the Winter Soldier was a result of torture and memory alteration,” Alex stated. “But you seem to have a very clear view on morality now. If that was something they didn’t manage to take from you, why did you keep working for HYDRA?” 

Bucky took a deep breath. He’d known this was coming. He knew he had to talk about the triggers. “HYDRA has a form of brainwashing,” he explained. “When I was first recaptured by the United States, there was a ten word trigger phrase that made me susceptible to any suggestions- orders- given to me.” 

“Like hypnosis.” 

“No. Hypnosis puts the mind into a relaxed state, almost like alcohol. It lowers inhibitions, but hypnosis can’t make you do anything you wouldn’t do otherwise. If you were to hypnotize me right now on live television and tell me to strip naked and bawk like a chicken, I wouldn’t. It would snap me out of it. HYDRA’s programming is much more sophisticated.” 

“Programming? But you’re a person, not a computer.” 

“True,” Bucky agreed, “but there are still ways we can program our own brains. That’s where concepts like ‘positive affirmations’ come from. Telling yourself the same exact encouraging message several times a day convinces your brain that it’s true- or at least has the potential to be. That’s how HYDRA worked, except that they used torture. By associating certain words and phrases with being tortured until everything in me shut down, they were able to skip the actual torture and just use the words.” 

“So you’re saying if you hear the right ten words, you’ll be weaponized?” 

“I’m saying HYDRA programmed that into me,” Bucky replied. “Thankfully, I went through a reintegration program with a team of very good doctors where we managed to eradicate that trigger phrase.” 

“What about the incident with the Avengers a year or so ago?” 

Bucky nodded. He’d known this question was coming, too. He’d practiced it, but now that the cameras were on him, he felt incredibly vulnerable. “Unfortunately, HYDRA programmed other verbal triggers into me. The list was the worst one because it allowed them to force me to do anything. That one, as I said, was eradicated in my reintegration therapies.” 

“And the others?” 

Bucky swallowed. “The others are more specific, and relate to specific actions. The one that was activated on the day that I attacked my team was a specific command to kill the ones who brought me here. Uh. There. Our best guess is it was designed for use if the trigger wore off before I could get back to base and tried to bring reinforcements.” 

“But it’s still active?” 

“Yes, but we are working on eradicating it and any others that pop up.” 

“Pop up? Are you saying there are ones you don’t know about?” 

Bucky felt his face heating. He tried to imagine Steve’s lips on the back of his neck, reassuring him that all he had to do was be honest and it would be fine. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “My memory-“

“Sorry, but how does that make you anything but a threat? Willing or not, having that kind of thing in your head makes you basically a sleeper agent.” 

Bucky kept his palm against his thigh. It was sweating and he felt like he was going to puke all over again. Alex was asking the questions, but phrasing them in ways that seemed to deliberately antagonize and upset him. “You’re right,” he agreed. “The things HYDRA put in my head make me a threat. That’s why I’ve been staying with my team. If I get set off, they are the ones best equipped to deal with it.” 

“And how exactly-“

“I think they’ve proven themselves perfectly capable of dealing with me when I’ve been activated,” Bucky replied tersely. “Once they realized I’d been compromised, in the middle of a mission even, they immediately put me down.” 

“Of course, but you almost managed to kill Hawkeye before they realized. What kind of damage might you do next time? Before they can get to you?” 

He could see Pepper somewhere past the lights, gesturing animatedly, clearly furious about these questions. At least someone was on his side. Too bad cutting the cameras would make it worse. 

“I spend a lot of time worrying about that,” Bucky confessed. _Be honest._ “When the incident happened, I did actually have a moment of crisis. I ran away from everyone who cared about me, put as much distance between us as I could. That was when I was attacking HYDRA facilities in the DC area. Trouble is, I ended up hurting them a lot by leaving. I made a decision that affected other people without consulting them. Everyone who lives in the building is aware of the threat I pose. All of them have agreed to be there anyway. The building itself even has protocols to help contain me. I would tell you what they are, but Stark is very possessive of his security.” 

“But why not allow the government to deal with the risk? Why allow the Avengers to stage an illegal attack on the prison?” 

“I did not have any say in their rescue operation,” he said, pausing to make sure the right description of the jail break landed. “I nearly died under the government’s _care_ in that facility. The Avengers staged their rescue because the agents there performed experiments on me without my consent. They had access to a list of my triggers- something we have reclaimed and are working to translate- and tested them on me.” 

“I don’t understand,” Alex said. “You’re saying they tried to make you kill someone?” 

“Not that time,” Bucky replied with certainty. “But some of what I overheard them saying when they thought I was still out of it implied that they understood I could be weaponized for the United States the same way I had been weaponized by HYDRA.” 

“Sorry. I just find it a bit difficult to believe our government would do something like that.” 

Bucky clenched his jaw and paused until he knew he could speak without his voice shaking. “They tested what they viewed as a harmless trigger. It was one designed to make me pliant and helpless so they could do maintenance on my arm- or whatever. I don’t like talking about it or admitting its existence because it would be extremely dangerous for me if it became public knowledge.” 

“That sounds like a harmless test to me, Bucky.” 

“To verify I wasn’t faking, they beat me- not just with their fists. Time gets fuzzy for me when I’m under, so I can’t tell you how long they spent trying to beat me into revealing I was somehow faking it. I can tell you it was bad. If you look at the footage of my arrival at Stark Tower, you can still see some of the bruises- and I heal very quickly thanks to the serum I never agreed to.” 

“You are very emphatic that you did not agree with your actions. Is that a legal strategy?” 

Bucky was going to snap. These unscripted questions seemed designed to make him commit murder on film. “I wasn’t aware that stating facts could be emphatic.” 

“I only mean you tend to state it frequently.” 

“I think about it even more frequently,” he replied testily. “For decades, my body has been used without my permission for things I would never consent to. If the verdict is guilty or the military somehow gets its hands on me? That’s gonna keep happening. I want my life back. I want my mind and body back. All I want is to be left alone.” 

Alex leaned closer, his expression the absolute picture of pity. “Are you saying you were raped, Bucky?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen a lot of therapists since reintegration and, you know, they all ask me that like it’s somehow worse than anything else could have ever been. It’s insulting, honestly. And you know what? I have no idea what the answer is. It’s possible, but I don’t remember it ever happening and, frankly, what I did go through was bad enough without people trying to act like it could have been worse.” 

“I can’t imagine,” Alex replied and, in spite of the false sympathy in his voice, it was probably the first truly honest thing he’d said about himself. “Does that kind of history affect your relationship with Steve?” 

Bucky’s hand curled into a fist. “Once again, my personal relationships are not something I am willing to discuss. As much as I’m sure you’d love to continue asking me off-script questions until you find something upsetting enough to make you happy, I think we’re finished here.” He turned to the camera. “When I was being held by UNITE, one of my friends told me I’d convinced myself I deserved what was happening to me because of what I’d done- because it made it easier to accept. And they were right. They were also right that I didn’t deserve it. No one deserves to be treated like a thing, to be used like a tool to do things they’d never want. It’s taken a lot of time and work on my part, and a lot of patience and care from the people who love me, but I’m starting to understand just what has been taken from me and if you think I deserved any of it, then you can fuck right off with this whole damn circus. No-“ Bucky insisted to Pepper who was making throat-slashing motions for him to stop just past the cameras, “-I mean every word of it. Part of me hopes that every one of you asshole protesters who wants me fried for this should have to live through even a year of what HYDRA did to me and then have your entire life become something people feel entitled to, to have to see people outside your window picketing you, calling you a monster, keeping you trapped inside with nowhere to go. But the rest of me isn’t enough of an asshole to wish that on anyone. So maybe have some fucking compassion and kindly fuck off. I’m not doing another interview.” 

He stormed off, shaking, searching desperately for Steve who immediately pulled him around the corner and wrapped him in a hug. Bucky let out a quiet sob, as Steve rubbed his back and Bucky clung to him desperately. Thinking about all of it, talking about all of it, especially to someone he knew he should be frightened of but not why ( _The not knowing is the worst,_ he remembered telling someone) had triggered him in a way HYDRA had never intended. “I love you,” he told Steve. “I want to go home and just cuddle you and watch Star Trek with your sarcastic-“

Steve was pushing him away and Bucky almost collapsed before he realized Steve was angry and not at him. “The interview is over,” he said coldly, in a voice not even Bucky had heard from him. This Steve was a dangerous Steve. “Turn the camera off and leave. You people have done enough.” 

Alex shook his head as he said something to the cameraman that Bucky couldn’t quite hear. “I said _turn the camera off and leave_ ,” Steve all but snarled. 

Bucky wanted to turn his back so the camera wouldn’t see his tears, but he was too busy watching Alex. Slowly, he tugged Steve behind him- or tried to. The blond wasn’t backing down. “Stevie, let’s just go. They won’t be able to follow us out of the studio. Fucking camera cables.” 

“I hope you’re really damn proud,” Steve said as his parting shot before finally allowing Bucky to tug him away. He placed his arm firmly on the ex-assassin’s waist and Bucky almost pulled free. He had done this to get Steve out of the spotlight, after all, and here he was planting himself in it, right in front of Bucky. “Fucking assholes,” Steve muttered and Bucky couldn’t even be pleased by his anger. 

“I’m so sorry, Stevie,” he mumbled miserably. “I just wanted them to leave you alone.” 

Steve was quiet all the way back to their floor (the crew had set up in the Tower, though they hadn’t told the viewers anything about it) and didn’t say anything until they were decidedly without an audience. “Don’t ever do anything like that for me again,” Steve said in a quiet but furious voice. “Not ever. I told you I can handle it, Bucky. I cannot handle assholes upsetting you to the point of tears, okay? I can handle people being rude. I can handle that. It’s not worth this.” 

He had finally softened, cradling Bucky’s face. He leaned their foreheads together and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again. 

“I know, just… Stop hurting yourself to protect me, okay? If I need protecting, I’ll let you know.” 

Bucky nodded against Steve’s forehead. “Can we just… Netflix now?” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Come on.” 

He led Bucky to the couch and settled in behind him. Bucky had barely glimpsed Picard’s face before he felt Steve’s lips peppering the back of his neck and shoulders with slow, deliberate kisses. 

Okay, this was better than the sarcastic commentary. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, maybe if I could ever get jury duty like I’ve always dreamed, I could write a realistic trial, but I’ve never had my shot. So suspend your disbelief and just deal with my idfic version of court proceedings, I guess. You’ve been with this series for like 80k now. I mean, assuming you started at part one.

The day of the trial was a nightmare in every possible way. They had seriously entertained the notion that there wouldn’t even be a trial- that this was just some underhanded trick to get Bucky out of the Tower so he could be detained again. Bucky had wanted to go in his sweatpants and t-shirt, but Pepper wouldn’t let him. She insisted he wear the closest approximation of his sergeant’s uniform as they could find. The left sleeve was neatly folded and pinned, and his uniform was littered with bars and medals he didn’t remember earning. He refused to cut his hair, so it had been combed back into a neat ponytail that made him feel like a lasso had been looped under his skull. Still, it was an impressive display: Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend who gave his life in the name of duty, flanked by the Avengers, the heroes of the modern world. Bucky should have felt claustrophobic with the close radius they were keeping to him, but he actually felt more secure. The people in the crowd of picket signs who supported him now had a presence that could contend with the people who wanted him dead or imprisoned. It was nice not to feel like the whole world was against him. 

Most importantly, Steve was at his side. Bucky was still uneasy about putting Steve into this kind of spotlight, but he had finally given up the battle of changing Steve Rogers’ mind when Steve thought he was doing the right thing. The doors of the courthouse loomed and he subconsciously hugged Steve a little closer to his side. Steve allowed himself to be pulled in and gave a return squeeze with a muted, “Careful. Don’t want to wrinkle the uniform.” 

“Fuck the uniform,” Bucky muttered. “I don’t exactly feel like a proud soldier, and I definitely don’t feel like fighting for a country that just seems to want to kill me.” 

“I know, Buck,” Steve replied. He seemed more subdued with each passing moment. 

So Bucky stopped walking, not caring how much it threw off the protective circle of Avengers. “Hey, listen to me,” Bucky said, earnest as could be, “I’m coming back home. One way or another, you’re my end goal, okay? If I have to dig my way out, I will. But I’m hoping there’ll be any kind of justice and they’ll let me go without a target on my back.” 

The team had turned their backs on Bucky and Steve so that they were facing the crowd, sticking as close together as they could to afford them any semblance of privacy. Steve pulled him in for a real hug and breathed him in, so Bucky did the same. “I love you,” Steve told him. “I love you, and if those assholes take you, remember that we are gonna get you out. Whatever they do to you, remember we’re coming. Just take care of yourself as best as you can, okay?” 

“Promise me the same, punk,” Bucky said. He was trying to challenge Steve, but it came out like a plea. “Take care of my Stevie.” 

“Just in case,” Steve said firmly. 

“Just in case,” Bucky agreed. 

“Now kiss me.” 

“Just in case,” Bucky agreed again, and met Steve’s lips with the soft, chaste touch of his own. 

An angry yelling swelled in the crowd. Apparently they were at least somewhat visible to piss off the homophobes with a kiss where their mouths didn’t even open. “Ignore them,” Steve said firmly, holding Bucky’s gaze. The brunet was scared now and it probably showed. “I’m gonna be there every minute and I love you no matter what thing they pull out of your past, okay? I know you, Bucky Barnes, and I love you. And I know you well enough to know that you’re gonna doubt that when they talk about this stuff, so listen to me right now. Nothing is gonna change my opinion of you. Nothing.” 

“Don’t know how I got so lucky,” he choked out. 

“After the shit you’ve dealt with, giving you to someone who loves you is the least the universe can do for you.” 

Bucky leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “I love you too, punk. If I don’t look at you, it ain’t personal.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky agreed. The things he was going to be forced to admit were going to include some things he didn’t ever want Steve to have to know, but there was no way either of them was going to get through this without Steve in the room. “We gotta go. I’m gonna be late.” 

Steve cupped Bucky’s face in his hands and Bucky flattened his at the base of Steve’s spine as they shared another innocent kiss and tried to walk in together. “Just remember that you’re an Avenger,” Nat said behind them as they filed into the courthouse. “They need you out there, saving the world. Locking you up means one less hero.” 

“You want to walk out, just give the signal,” Barton added. 

Bucky slid his hand to Steve’s hip, gripping him gently as the door was cleared and the perimeter rounded itself back out. “After this, I need you to test the new arm,” Stark jumped in, his tone businesslike, as if he already knew this would turn out in their favor. Bucky wished he could be as optimistic. 

“I’m just saying,” Banner tossed in, “if this doesn’t go the right way… I’m going to be pretty angry about it.” 

He laughed a little, looking around at his found family. “Thanks,” he replied. “I want to say not to get yourselves in any trouble… but honestly, I’m a lot more of a fucking chicken than I used to be, so please… don’t let them take me.” 

Steve squeezed his waist. Even Stark seemed affected by the fear Bucky hadn’t meant to show. “No one’s taking you anywhere,” Pepper confirmed. “It would be a crime to arrest someone with that many medals. Do you know how hard it was to track down that uniform?” 

“Thank you, Pepper,” he said and then turned to the rest of them. “Thank you all. I, uh. I owe the Avengers a lot, even if I’m not one of you.” 

“Shut up,” Barton sighed. “You not being an Avenger is the longest-running non-funny joke I’ve ever heard. Now get your ass in there, tell us a terrible story, and let’s get this over with. We’re all ordering pizza.” 

“Gonna need a hell of a tip for delivering past those picket lines,” Bucky remarked wryly. 

“Stark can afford it,” Nat smirked. 

Stark let out an exasperated noise. “Why is everyone always volunteering my money?” 

“Shut up, Tony, I’m the one who manages your money. You’d never even notice,” Pepper cut in. 

They all laughed, but the tension was obvious. The fraught frailty of the situation and of trying to bolster each other felt like tissue paper to Bucky. It felt like they each had an edge and it was pulled taught so that if any of them moved even a little in the wrong direction, the whole thing would tear. Pepper was the first to hug him, reminding him to keep his shoulders straight because it projected confidence and he didn’t want to seem like he doubted his case. Natasha came next, murmuring a phrase in Russian about keeping his chin up. Clint clapped him on the shoulder and informed him that bullet wounds were apparently very sexy, and Bucky could now never un-know that. 

Suddenly, the procession of hugging was interrupted. Mai was here. She’d come to his trial. Bucky wasn’t sure how she’d gotten into it, since it wasn’t exactly public, but it wasn’t like the Avengers had been invited. They’d just strong-armed their way into the courthouse and no reasonable person would think they had a chance of removing them. Besides, they were mostly there to make sure he was okay, and because the same thing couldn’t be said about Steve. The security guards would probably be bruised and sore, but if Steve was alone, they’d probably be able to kick him out. 

They all hugged him, Steve kissed him, and then he was being transferred to the court police. They flanked him all the way to the front of the room. He slid into the seat beside Murdoch and Nelson, trying to remember to keep his spine straight so he didn’t look guilty or afraid, even if he felt both of those things. 

Bucky struggled to pay attention. He was starting to fuzz out, but not so bad that he couldn’t keep bringing himself back. The trouble was that he couldn’t stay back long enough to follow the thread of the opening statements and he wasn’t entirely certain when he’d gotten up to the witness stand. They swore him in, and he braced himself for the first question, hoping it wouldn’t be lengthy. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” the prosecutor greeted him, all smiles. “How are you today?” 

“Um,” Bucky balked, not understanding the line of questioning. “I’m fine. Uh. How are you?” 

“Fine?” the man repeated- as a question- and Bucky blinked, knowing for certain now that everything he said was going to make him look guilty. This prosecutor was going to turn everything he said into guilt and- fuck, he was talking. “…not even nervous?” 

“Objection, relevance,” Murdoch cut in as though bored, though his posture and the way his head tilted forward seemed to indicate to Bucky that he could tell how much distress his client was in. 

“Withdrawn,” conceded the prosecutor and Bucky tried to stop being tense, but it wasn’t working. “Do you understand why you’re here, Sergeant Barnes?” 

He looked the prosecutor square in the eye, reaching into the depths of his soul for every ounce of strength he had. “I’m being prosecuted for a long laundry list of atrocities that I was forced to commit, most of which I have no memory of doing.” 

“But you did commit them.” 

“In the way that a computer does what its operator orders it to do.” 

“You’re comparing yourself to a computer, Sergeant? That seems like a false equivalency to me. Computers aren’t sentient.” 

“But they are programmed, just like I was,” he insisted. “When my programming is activated, I have zero control over my actions.” 

“Convenient.” 

“Really damn inconvenient, actually,” Bucky bit out before remembering he wasn’t supposed to lose his temper. “I only mean that…”

The prosecution waited, one eyebrow higher than the other, as if to say _I knew you didn’t have a good answer._ Bucky swallowed, trying desperately to finish his thought before this man could finish it for him- or worse, turn it into another sign of guilt. “You only meant that what? It’s inconvenient that you can’t prove what you’re saying? Or that it’s inconvenient that you’ve supposedly eradicated these triggers?” 

“If you’ve had access to files about my triggers, then you know the lengths UNITE went to in order to confirm I wasn’t faking.” He glared defiantly at the prosecutor, daring him to try to justify what had been done to him. “How they rendered me unable to respond, beat me so severely any unenhanced individual might have died, and were unable to bring me out of it for a good while after because they hadn’t bothered to translate that much of the information on it.” 

“Your claims are extremely exaggerated, Sergeant. The test took under an hour according to records, and you were never beaten.” 

“Oh, according to records, huh?” Bucky replied. “Well, there’s some video record of me where I got bruises, and that’s hard to do to a supersoldier, so maybe have a look at those instead of reports that are probably mostly lies anyway.” 

“Sergeant, I’ll ask you to remain respectful or I’ll find you in contempt,” the judge warned. 

Great, even she hated him. He was so fucked. “I do apologize, ma’am,” he assured the judge. “I only meant to say that my egg might be scrambled hard, but I have recorded evidence to support my memory of these events.” 

She nodded to him and then glanced at the prosecutor to continue this monkey dance. “Sergeant, you claim that the bruises you had on camera were from this test, but there is no evidence to support that. Any number of things could have happened between then and that video. You could have sustained those injuries while _breaking out of prison_ , or they could have been false to begin with.” 

Bucky bristled, taking a deep breath and counting to three. “I assure you, my injuries were real.” 

“Excuse me, your Honor,” Murdoch finally interrupted, “but I believe it would be more productive to focus on my client’s responsibility (or lack thereof) for the crimes of which he’s accused, rather than what would likely make a great future lawsuit against the state.” 

Bucky took a breath and let his immense gratitude for his attorney wash through his body. Even better, he thought he saw a muscle in the prosecutor’s jaw twitch as though he was angry anyone would have thought to sue the state for their treatment of Bucky. He briefly wondered if the prosecutor was angry because he thought Bucky deserved it or if he was angry because he didn’t even view Bucky as a person who deserved rights. 

“Agreed,” nodded the judge, and she leaned back a bit. “Let’s stay on topic, shall we?” 

“Of course, your Honor,” agreed the prosecutor. He walked in a small but slow circle as he seemed to try to regain his bearings before finally turning back to Bucky. “Sergeant. How much do you remember of your time before HYDRA?” 

“Not much,” he shrugged. “Comes in flashes, never anything whole.” 

“What about your best friend? Captain America?” 

Bucky sank into himself a little. He didn’t want to talk about Cap. Didn’t even want to think about her. He eyed the wood of the railing in front of the witness stand, smooth and flawless without even any wood grain. Fucking future. What was so bad about wood with grain that they seemed to prefer wooden furniture without it? 

“Sergeant?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you remember anything about Matthew Carter?” 

“Who?” Bucky asked, genuinely confused. 

“Captain America. Your best friend.” 

“I remember Cap, but I don’t remember any Matthew,” Bucky replied, still trying to figure out what he was being asked. 

“Matthew Carter is Captain America.” 

Bucky snorted a little, giving the guy time to take it back before he started laughing outright. “Pal, if you’re trying to trip me up, you’re going the wrong way about it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Whoever the f- Whoever Matthew Carter is supposed to be, he ain’t Captain America. She was a pretty brunette, not some kid from Carnegie Hill.” 

A murmur erupted from the spectators and there was at least a full six seconds before the judge hit her gavel to silence everyone. Bucky only sat up straight, trying to look confident so he wouldn’t look guilty. “Sorry, Sergeant,” Prosecutor said as the judge hit the gavel again. People mostly quieted, wanting to hear more. “I just want to be clear. Are you suggesting Captain America was a woman?” 

Bucky squinted at the moron asking the questions. “Are you kidding me? Of course she was.” 

Now it sounded like an actual riot might happen. Did people not know who Cap had been? 

He risked a glance past the gate separating the legal teams and the observers and realized no, people hadn’t known. Fuck, they all thought Cap was some prep boy and he couldn’t even properly correct them because he didn’t even remember her goddamn name. His face crumbled and he couldn’t bring himself to sit straight by the time the judge finally got everyone to shut the hell up. 

“Sergeant Barnes, I’m going to remind you that lying under oath-“

“I ain’t lying,” Bucky interrupted the prosecutor. “I might not remember Cap’s name, but I remember she wasn’t a Matthew. Didn’t remember there was any secret about who she was. So to answer your question- again- I remember flashes. Just like I said. The whole picture’s got a lot of holes, but I can make out enough. ” 

“You’ve claimed in the past that you don’t remember your family.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed. In spite of the fact that he knew he wasn’t supposed to volunteer information, his mouth was being driven by the fuzzy fade in his head and the electric anxiety in his chest. He couldn’t stop this train if he wanted to. “Didn’t remember my birthday either. No one has ever had a more surprising surprise birthday party, let me tell you, pal.” 

He heard several people chuckle, Steve loudest of all, and his cheeks turned a little pink. Dammit. 

“Tell me.” 

Bucky’s cheeks turned full-out red. Murdoch, bless him, interjected, “Objection, rel-“

“Withdrawn. Tell me, Barnes, how much do you remember of HYDRA?” 

“Like everything else, it’s flashes,” he replied in annoyance. 

“Give us a timeline,” the prosecutor suggested. “Paint us the picture, even with the holes.” 

Bucky sighed and started to stumble through it. They’d tortured him until he did what they wanted and then, when that didn’t work, they started inflicting the brain damage. Halfway through, he was hit with a very specific flashbulb of torture he hadn’t remembered before and came back to reality to find the prosecutor giving him an unsympathetic _Yes?_ look. 

“So you were willing to kill for HYDRA,” the asshole confirmed. 

“Willing ain’t the word I’d use.” 

“And what word would you use?” 

Bucky clenched his jaw. “Desperate. Not to kill. Not to work for HYDRA. Just to get the pain to stop. To sleep for more than five minutes at a time. I’m sure someone somewhere has a scientific study about what that kind of shit- stuff does to a person. I held out as long as I could.” 

“And how long was that?” 

“You know, I can’t remember,” he replied in irritation. “Somewhere someone made a log of how long it takes supersoldier fingernails to grow back when they been ripped out, plenty of trials if you wanna do the math.” 

“Sergeant, I’m going to have to ask you to calm down. You’re getting belligerent.” 

Bucky felt like this would be a great time for Murdoch to point out he was being badgered, but he also knew he did need to calm the fuck down. Going off like a bomb wasn’t going to convince anyone he was safe for society. “Sorry,” he apologized, and did his best to make it sound genuine. “You can imagine I don’t like talking about this stuff.” 

“Mm,” the prosecutor acknowledged, and Bucky knew in that moment nothing he could say was going to garner any sympathy. This guy didn’t see him as a human being with feelings. “Do you prefer not to talk about it because you’re afraid you might reveal your own complicity?” 

“I prefer not to talk about it because it sucked and I don’t particularly want to relive it.” 

“Mm,” the man acknowledged again and Bucky felt his eye twitch. “Does it trigger something in you? Some leaked files suggest you have a certain fiery monster in you, a ярость…”

Bucky’s brain went white and he was on his feet. He knew the Handler, he was the one who had said the word, was smirking knowingly at him even as he pretended to be afraid, dodging behind the officers coming in for an attack. The Asset pushed them out of the way, shoving one away hard so he could incapacitate the other without distraction. He saw the Widow rushing him and incapacitated the second as quickly as possible. It would be difficult enough to face her with one less limb, let alone with an annoying fly of an officer trying to help her. 

She kept going for the sides of his head, and he kept running into tables, desks, the witness stand (where the hell were they? Was this a courtroom?) as he dodged her efforts. The rest of her team _Avengers_ supplied his mission-critical knowledge, though he did not understand why their code name implied they were righting wrongs. They were the enemy, they-

-were holding him down, calling him Barnes. The small blond- _Steve_ supplied his brain- was standing in front of him, looking both upset and worried. That was unacceptable. 

No. That was good. That was ideal. Enemy combatants should be upset and worried. It meant the Asset was performing adequately. 

“Put him down,” one of them confirmed. 

“No,” the blond argued, pointing accusatorily at the Widow. What was he missing? Why would they not want to stop him? He was their enemy, not the other thing. 

Friend. He wasn’t their… friend. He looked at the blond ( _Steve_ ) again and had flashes of hurting him. Then of holding him, being kissed by him. 

The Asset shook his head violently. “Mission,” he muttered to remind himself and started struggling anew. Most of the bystanders had cleared the room, but it wouldn’t matter. He’d track them down once he dealt with this crew. His Handler had given him an order. No witnesses. 

“Rogers, we can’t afford to wait on this!” 

The Asset zeroed in on the red flyer (though how he knew who the man was without his flight suit…) who cursed a little. With a brief pause to allow his captors to think they had the luxury of adjusting their grips, he launched himself. They grappled for purchase on his suit (What the fuck was he wearing?) and almost succeeded except he’d shrugged off the jacket and gotten his hand on the red flyer’s throat. 

“Bucky!” 

He kicked at the little blond and sent him backward into a table, ignoring whatever his stomach was doing in response to the grunt of pain. 

“Steve!” Widow’s voice demanded. Not concern. They were arguing about ending him, and the little blond was in charge. Why was the frail one their leader? 

“No!” Steve bellowed. He kept a radius this time, ignoring the red-faced look of the man the Asset was choking. “Bucky, stop. You’re James Buchanan Barnes. You’re Bucky. You don’t want this. You never have, you’re-“

“Shut up!” the Asset yelled and released the flyer in favor of going after the leader. It only took one blow to floor him, but this stupid little punk (punk?) wasn’t even afraid of him. Blood was streaming from his cute little nose and there was a hitch in his breathing (that was good, why was the Asset’s heart trying to beat out of his chest?) but he looked completely unafraid in the face of imminent death. Desperate to silence the conflict in his head, the Asset dropped to his knees and hit the blond in the face again. 

“Bucky-“

“Stop calling me that!” 

“Bucky, it’s Steve. It’s St-“

He hit the blond again. Why was his head so fucking loud and why did this little dweeb (???) make it worse? 

“Red, Bbb-cky.” 

He froze. Red was an order, a trigger word. The little blond could barely get the word out because Bucky had (who the hell was Bucky?) beaten his face until his mouth was swollen and split. He backed away in horror, and he wasn’t sure what he was more afraid of- the blond’s power over him or-

He searched frantically for his Handler who’d given the initial command. He began apologizing profusely, his Russian sounding stilted and rusty as he begged for mercy for his failure, for not understanding the mission, begged for his mind wiped and to be left alone in his cell, not for the knives and the needles and- and-

The Widow was suddenly in front of him. 

“Soldat.” 

He focused on the title. That was him. Orders were coming, punishment, he didn’t know what. He knew better than to argue now that the decision was made though. He was shaking a little as he met her gaze and waited for his orders. 

“стоять,” she said, then repeated it. “Stand down.” 

No. Wait. What language was she speaking? 

English. Why were they speaking English? The little blond, _Steve_ was sitting up, watching intently, somehow still visibly worried even though his face was-

“Oh, god,” Bucky breathed out and felt the shaking intensify. His chest grew tight and he couldn’t breathe, and it only got worse as Steve grew nearer and he could see the damage he’d inflicted in extreme detail. Steve and Agent Nat were suddenly hugging him from both sides. 

“I knew you could do it, I knew you could come back,” Steve breathed and Bucky had no idea how Steve could act like this was some kind of victory. 

Fuck, and it had been in front of _people_ , in front of the judge who was supposed to decide if he could be trusted around civilians. “They’re gonna take me now,” he uttered miserably. “They’re gonna take me and I’ll never see any of you again. They’re gonna punish me for- for-“ But he wasn’t sure who he’d failed here aside from that dickhead prosecutor. 

“There was no mission, Barnes,” Agent Nat reminded him. “You didn’t fail anything.” She pulled away, releasing him to Steve’s sole custody, and turned back to the judge, stenographer, and the two remaining conscious court police. “No one is taking you because you haven’t done anything wrong, and I think we’ve just effectively proven that we are the most capable of dealing with HYDRA dickheads who try to use you against your will.” 

She nodded to Barton, who pulled out a miniature bow and arrow to shoot the prosecutor in the meat of his arm. The man dropped. Sedative, maybe. 

The judge seemed approximately five thousand percent done with the day’s proceedings and announced, “Adjourned for today. We’ll meet again tomorrow. Closed session. Lawyers and experts only.” 

Bucky clutched at Steve, even if he couldn’t look at the man. Agent Nat reached down to help him up and he leaned on her as they walked. His muscles were shaking so badly that he was surprised he managed it. The crowd didn’t know what to make of Steve’s face and Bucky shut his eyes to let Nat lead in hopes he wouldn’t actually cry in front of these stupid fucking crowds that thought they had a right to his life. 

There were interviews, undoubtedly very well paid, of several of the people who’d been there as spectators. They mostly seemed to agree that Bucky had been antagonized until he lost his temper, attacking the prosecutor either for daring to uncover his true motives or poking at his trauma. Finally, he was informed, Mai gave an interview. She had been forced out of the room with the rest of the civilians, but she at least provided the theory that the prosecutor had known a trigger. He needed to send her about five hundred fruit baskets. Mai’s theory took on more momentum and discussion as it was announced the next morning that the prosecutor had been suspended and replaced. 

Bucky felt better after a night wrapped in Steve, and as long as he didn’t look at the healing bruises, he could almost trick himself into not feeling too guilty. The rest of the Avengers piled into their apartment, so they probably should have been less tangled up together, but not even embarrassment or a need for modesty could get Bucky to put on a shirt or get his face too far from Steve’s chest. In interest of not forcing too many of their friends to sit on the floor (or risk Tony overloading their living room with borrow furniture from other floors), they’d moved to the overstuffed chair with Steve in Bucky’s lap, so he really only need to lean a little to keep his face in contact with Steve’s chest. The fact that Steve’s chest kept Bucky’s sightline safely away from his injured face didn’t hurt either. 

It turned out that, while money wasn’t an issue, none of them really wanted to ask a delivery person to brave the picket lines so Happy took a car out the back way to pick up what was probably going to be an ungodly amount of pizza. Bucky didn’t think he could eat anything right now, but he’d do his best to eat most of a slice to keep everyone happy. 

Apparently they had all agreed that his ban from all news outlets was void now, so he got to sit through most of the coverage of the court trial. Some asshole had snuck a cell phone in and gotten video of when he first lost it, so that was receiving a bit of air time. Bucky shut his eyes and instead tried to listen to the sound of his hair moving as Steve combed through it with his fingers. 

“Some of us were _actually_ forced to serve HYDRA,” a voice penetrated his mind and Bucky’s eyes snapped open, though he was only sort of seeing the room. Another memory was flashing in his poor, abused brain, but it undermined everything the guy was saying before he could even get out, “and Barnes wasn’t. Whatever act that monster is putting on- don’t believe it. He’s the devil incarnate. The look in his eyes when he makes a kill…”

Bucky knew the look in Rollins’ eyes when he made a kill, and it was hiding underneath the pretend look of haunted discomfort he was currently wearing on television. 

“You know this guy?” Barton asked from where he was perched on the corner of the couch. 

“Rollins,” Bucky replied certainly. He likes knives, he didn’t say. He didn’t add that Rollins would call small blades- scalpels, x-acto knives, pocket knives- paintbrushes. There had been a lot of blood in the memory. 

“That bad, huh?” Natasha asked conversationally from the floor where she’d leaned against the side of the couch and casually stretched her legs out as if the furniture had been made to be used that way. He gave a tight nod that she had to turn to see. There was understanding in her gaze, but not pity. He loved that about her. Steve hadn’t changed what he was doing, hadn’t moved to provide extra attention or comfort. He loved that about him, too. 

“So. Rollins,” Stark said, and Bucky sensed a monologue coming on. It was blissfully short for what the man usually threw at them. “Guess that name’s going on the Avengers’ shit list.” 

“Shove a handful of paintbrushes up his ass for me,” Bucky muttered before realizing the room had gone a little more quiet. He rolled his eyes. “Inside joke.” 

He didn’t clarify. They all knew what they’d thought and he was tired of reminding them that wouldn’t have been worse than everything else. Or maybe it would have. He wouldn’t know. Still. 

Steve kept playing with Bucky’s hair and he shut his eyes again. When Steve gently woke him up from the sleep he hadn’t meant to get, Stark had a camera on him. 

“Stark,” Bucky warned. 

“The people need a complete narrative, Bucky bear. Seeing your reaction to the verdict will be the ultimate wrap-up.” 

“Yeah, what if they decide I’m guilty?” he muttered, ignoring the camera in hopes it would ignore him too. 

“Then I double check the security on the tower, overhaul it once a week…”

Bucky really wanted the camera off him. He was getting morose thinking about spending the rest of his life trapped in a single fucking building. 

“Tony, just turn the camera off,” Steve requested gently. 

Stark at least pretended to comply, but Bucky had the feeling it was still rolling- and not just because Tony was holding his phone on his knee in a way that it was probably still pointed at them. He adjusted his grip on Steve. It had grown slack while he was asleep and he needed the physical reassurance of his boyfriend as close as possible as the judge appeared on screen. 

“Based on evidence presented regarding the psychological condition of Sergeant James Barnes,” she said, “I have been convinced that he is a deeply disturbed and traumatized individual capable of dangerous violence. He is also a veteran and a war hero. We, as a nation, owe him a debt. It is however, true that he committed some of these crimes while aware of his actions and consequences. What understanding we have managed to gain of the duress under which these crimes were committed is something I have taken into account. The court finds Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes guilty of crimes against the state. The court will also recommend a sentence of time served, contingent on the sergeant continuing to receive psychological treatment.” 

Bucky was probably holding Steve too tight. He’d gone numb and started to fade out at the word guilty, barely hearing the good news part. Steve kissed him and he continued to stare before his brain caught up with the sensation of the kiss and he looked at Steve. “They’re not gonna take me,” he told Steve, as if they hadn’t just been watching the same announcement. 

“They’re not taking you,” Steve agreed and let out some mix of choke and laugh and sob and the other Avengers were piling on in some strange group hug- which was good because if Tony was filming, then the camera wouldn’t catch the couple of tears running down his face. 

He was safe, truly safe, at least for this moment. 


	10. Chapter 10

“Bucky,” Steve sighed happily as the brunet kissed his way down Steve’s abdomen. He paid special attention to Steve’s hip bones, tracing them with his tongue and coloring them in with kisses as if they might otherwise lose their shape and cease to exist without being drawn and redrawn. 

Steve threaded his fingers into Bucky’s hair and pulled tight. He’d figured out how much Bucky liked that and had taken every opportunity he could to play with Bucky’s hair. Whether it was gentle and soothing, like it had been while they waited for the results of his trial, or rough and demanding like it was when they were being intimate, it seemed like Steve’s fingers were usually not far from his scalp these days. 

He grunted a little as Steve tugged, trying to get Bucky’s attention. “My face wants kisses too,” he pouted, though how he could ignore an erection as hard as the one between his legs in favor of Bucky’s kisses was beyond comprehension. 

Bucky awkwardly crawled up the bed and began planting kisses on Steve’s face- everywhere but his lips. Steve only laughed and tilted his head to try to catch Bucky’s lips, failing spectacularly in the face of Bucky’s determination. “Buck-!”

“You know what you said,” Bucky reminded him. 

“You know what I meant.” 

Bucky met Steve’s fiery gaze and softened. “I do,” he agreed and kissed Steve the way he wanted, slow and deep. The blond shuddered a little and Bucky smiled as they kissed. “God, I love you,” he breathed. 

Steve smiled against Bucky’s lips. “Me too,” he agreed and they kept kissing, riding high on his court victory and each other and being able to say they loved each other without it feeling like a desperate reminder for when the other was gone. Steve slid his hand up to hold the side of Bucky’s neck and he let out a happy breath. 

Steve had learned so many ways Bucky liked to be touched that Bucky himself hadn’t even known about. He’d fantasized a lot, even about Steve in particular, but the less-obvious touches he’d thought about had been hugs, cuddling, touching foreheads. He’d never imagined how much he’d like the warmth of Steve’s palm and fingers caressing a third of his neck with their warmth. He hadn’t pictured the tingles of having his hair played with or- fuck- or the way Steve was curling his leg around Bucky’s and the not-quite scratchy feel of their leg hair at war with each other. 

Bucky had also learned a lot about Steve and, while he wasn’t sure about all of it, he knew he liked Steve enjoying himself. So he grabbed the hand on his neck, grabbing the other on the way up to pin Steve’s wrists above his head. Steve bit his lip, looking up at Bucky like it was taking everything he had not to moan so loudly Canada knew what they were up to. He shifted his position a little, awkwardly, trying not to put too much weight on Steve’s wrists, until he had a solid balance on his knees, straddling Steve, their cocks gently touching. There was a little bit of friction that earned him a gasp as he leaned forward to kiss the blond, even if he was a little distracted. He couldn’t help but think that this was the only way this could work. If Steve were much taller, or Bucky much shorter, he couldn’t pin Steve’s wrists like this while grinding against him so steadily. They certainly couldn’t reverse their positions. 

Bucky’s dick jumped at the thought of Steve holding him down and kissing him like this. No, Steve couldn’t hold Bucky’s wrists and grind against him, but he could do other things. Maybe play with his nipples or slip a leg between Bucky’s thighs, grinding both their dicks, though just not against each other. Bucky moaned into Steve’s mouth and Steve moaned back. He felt a little bad for not being in the moment with him, for thinking of how Steve could still manage this if he just held Bucky’s arm down at the side, how easy it would be to let his lover take control, how much he trusted Steve. 

“Bucky,” the blond moaned. That was it, wasn’t it? The idea of Steve taking over, making it so Bucky didn’t have to think, knowing it was Steve and that Steve would never let anything bad happen to him- let alone do anything bad to him. 

“I love you,” Bucky whispered in response, getting a lot more worked up than he usually did with just frotting. He kissed Steve a bit more before ordering, “Keep your hands just like that. Don’t move.” 

Steve shivered a little and Bucky knew it had been the right choice. God knew if Steve ordered him around like that, he’d obey in a heartbeat. Steve was watching him raptly as Bucky retrieved the lube and used his teeth to squeeze a bit into his palm. Steve tried to spread his legs for Bucky, but the brunet had other plans. Without a word, he began to lube Steve’s dick, stroking him until he found a pressure that made Steve throw his head back and shake with the effort of keeping his hands out of play. Bucky was tempted to undo him just like this, work him up to the edge, back off cruelly, and work him to the edge over and over until he was so broken by need that he couldn’t even beg for it. 

Air rushed out of Bucky’s stomach as he pictured that Steve, eyes half-lidded and trying desperately to come as Bucky brought him closer and closer only to keep it from him. He pictured Steve crying out, whimpering with need as Bucky took him apart, and then Steve blessed him with a preview of those whimpers. He knew by now what Steve looked like when he was getting close, so he stopped and crawled up to kiss Steve as he surreptitiously fumbled the tube to get more of the slick for his own ass. It was probably going to hurt if he didn’t prepare himself a little, but he was too impatient and too certain he’d had worse. It burned a little as he shoved two fingers in to spread the lube inside a bit, but it was a good burn. It was a burn that meant he was about to be with Steve and, fuck, he wanted the blond more than anything else in this world. 

Reaching back to start stroking Steve again, Bucky maneuvered his hips to line himself up. Steve blinked slowly as he registered first that Bucky’s lips were gone and second, that Bucky was about to fuck him in a way they hadn’t fucked before. Bucky hesitated, realizing he hadn’t asked if Steve was okay with this. “Steve?” 

Steve swallowed and nodded, like he couldn’t quite form words which, if Bucky was honest, had been the goal to begin with. It took a bit of effort to get things started (maybe that was a point for preparing himself next time), but once Steve’s head was inside him, it was easy to sink all the way down. All the air rushed out of him at once. Bucky was pretty sure there was some kind of pain, but it was superceded by the strange, full feeling of being fully seated on Steve’s dick. 

Steve was watching him in concern, but Bucky only leaned forward to kiss him, rising as he did so, and starting to move his hips until he could find an angle and a rhythm that allowed him to properly fuck Steve while kissing him. He moaned a little, finally understanding just what a prostate was and why Steve always seemed to like it so much when Bucky found it. He kept working his hips, getting lost in sensation and the heady sound of Steve panting. “Buck, please,” Steve finally whined. “I wanna t-touch you.” 

Bucky kissed him again, not giving him permission to use his hands yet. “How do you want to touch me?” he asked instead, rolling his hips and taking Steve as deep as he could. 

“Everywhere,” Steve begged. 

Bucky must have been lost in his own fantasy for too long, forgetting that he was doing this for Steve, because what he said instead was, “Pull my hair while I ride you.” 

Steve’s hands were tangled in his hair within seconds, yanking him down for sloppy kisses, and Bucky moaned into his mouth. His brain was broadcasting something that probably translated to _God, I love you,_ but he was too overwhelmed to articulate anything beyond some cross between “Fuck, Stevie,” and an incoherent groan. In spite of all his intentions, Bucky came, coating Steve’s chest in sticky mess. He kept moving in a disjointed way, determined to get Steve off, when Steve took the initiative to flip them so that Bucky was on his back and Steve was driving into him. Steve’s hands were still tangled in his hair and Bucky was a little too sensitive, but just watching Steve’s face as he fucked his lover in earnest made Bucky feel like he should be coming again. Waves of tingling pleasure rocked through him every time Steve moaned and Bucky reached down to idly touch himself and then Steve, flattening his palm against the blonde’s stomach and rubbing up his sides, wanting his lover to feel as much as possible. 

“Bucky, God,” Steve moaned as he collapsed into the brunet’s shoulder, coming hard. Feeling that inside him was another new sensation, a little less comfortable than the others, but he could learn to like it. Bucky slipped his arm around Steve’s waist, cradling him close as he wrapped his legs around the blond’s to keep him inside for a while longer. As he checked in with his body, he realized he was kind of sore and it stung a bit where Steve’s release touched his insides. He had to figure out how to keep Steve from realizing what Bucky was starting to: he was probably bleeding a bit. It became more difficult as his own release started to dry between their chests and Steve began to pull away, looking directly at where they were joined. 

“Kiss me,” Bucky begged, but it was like Steve hadn’t even heard him. 

“Oh my God, Buck,” Steve breathed as he pulled out. “Fuck, I-“

Bucky reached for Steve’s face, “You didn’t hurt me,” he promised. 

“Bucky, you’re bleeding.” 

“It’s not-“

“Bucky, stop,” Steve argued as he stared in horror at the brunet. “We’re not doing this again.” 

Bucky felt his heart plummet. “Steve-“

“I- I need a minute,” he said and Bucky realized maybe this wasn’t about him. 

“Is this about- about Rumlow?” he asked uncertainly and Steve gave him an agonized look that Bucky guessed was answer enough. “Steve, next time I can-“

“No next time,” Steve insisted as he shut the bathroom door behind him. Which was unfortunate because Bucky suddenly really needed to use the toilet. He got dressed slowly, hoping Steve would come back out and talk to him, but the shower started and Bucky knew he had at least a few minutes to go down the hall and use one of the public hallway bathrooms. 

When he got back to their apartment, Tony was standing in the middle of their living room, back to the door in favor of watching news footage of a car accident. No, not a car accident. Bucky watched as a motorcycle pulled up to the car and- fuck, it was him. This was footage of a Winter Soldier kill. It didn’t even look familiar. 

Tony turned, looking absolutely wrecked. “I want you out of my tower,” he said, and it seemed like it was taking a lot of self-control. 

Bucky didn’t understand. The billionaire knew Bucky had done horrible things. Why should seeing it change anything? “Stark-“

“I said you need to leave,” he snapped, eyes blazing. “I’m giving you until morning.” 

Bucky opened and closed his mouth, completely gobsmacked. 

Steve came out into the living room, pajamas thrown on haphazardly, hanging off a bony shoulder because the shirt at least was Bucky’s. “Why are we yelling?” he asked. 

“Stark’s kicking us out,” Bucky said, starting to feel his senses fading a little. 

“Why?” Steve asked, sounding much calmer than Bucky felt. 

The man pointed aggressively at the screen, and Steve got an eyeful of Bucky brutally smashing the driver’s face in with his fist. Bucky only stared at the footage. It was horrifying, but not as horrifying as Steve seeing it. “He killed my parents,” Stark ground out. 

Bucky flinched bodily as Steve touched his shoulder. Steve didn’t try again, and instead decided to just engage Stark. “We know he did horrible things,” Steve reminded him calmly. “We know he didn’t want to, couldn’t help it.” 

“Which is why he’s still alive,” Stark growled. “Which is why I’m giving you until morning to get out. I can’t have him here, not knowing that. Every time I look at him…”

Bucky headed to their room. Part of him was determined to start packing, but mostly he didn’t want to force Tony to look at him. “Bucky-“

He ignored Steve but turned back. They’d gotten too comfortable here. Steve hadn’t renewed the lease on his apartment. There was nowhere for them to go. “If I leave, will you let Steve stay?” he asked Stark. 

Stark looked about to agree when Steve cut in, “Fuck no. Bucky-“

But Bucky was looking at Stark, who nodded even if he wouldn’t meet the ex-assassin’s eye. He could hear Steve warning the billionaire that the talk wasn’t finished as he ran after Bucky. “Bucky, I’m sorry,” Steve said as soon as the door was shut behind him, and it was just ridiculous enough to derail him from whatever he was about to do. 

He frowned at Steve. “I’m the one who… killed Stark’s parents.” 

Steve only seemed to inflate with anger at that. “No. You fucking didn’t. What did we go through that whole court case for if not to prove that it’s not you?” 

“Except it is, Steve. I was found guilty. Ignorance is no excuse and all that.” 

“Come here,” Steve said firmly and then, when Bucky didn’t, repeated it louder. “Come here. Bucky.” 

Dragging his feet, Bucky complied, and Steve reached his hands up to press the sides of Bucky’s face. “You’re a good person. I know you. And you promised you wouldn’t leave me like this again, so no more let-Steve-stay bullshit. We’ll find something, okay? Probably should move anyway. Too many picket lines up here.” 

“I might know a guy in DC,” Bucky mumbled. 

“Sam?” Steve prompted, still holding Bucky’s face ridiculously. He tried to mimic the gesture, but it only seemed tender since he just had the one hand available. 

“Yeah. He might let us crash until we can find something.” 

“DC sounds good,” Steve agreed. 

“We don’t have jobs,” Bucky pointed out. 

Steve finally let go of Bucky’s face and pulled him close, craning his face to speak by Bucky’s ear as they hugged. “I love you, and this is all gonna work out. I promise, okay? I’ve been working on some new material, and I’m sure we can find something for you, if you want.” 

“Well, I ain’t just a trophy amputee.” 

Steve snorted. “No. You’re not. Come on, let’s get out of here. We got a life to build.” 

Stark, as angry as he seemed, was still fairly generous sending them on their way. He up and _gave_ them a sleek black sedan, the kind that didn’t scream money, but just sort of quietly whispered it- that and it didn’t stand out. They snuck out the back garage (that somehow none of the paparazzi or picket lines had yet discovered) and headed south. 

It turned out that neither Steve nor Bucky owned all that much. They fit both of their clothes and toiletries into two backpacks and a large suitcase. There were some photos and books, but they mostly fit in with the tablet and the laptop. 

They were silent in the car, which drove itself because of course it did. Bucky probably knew how to drive, but he definitely didn’t have a license. He struggled internally for most of the first thirty minutes, desperately trying to talk to Steve and not even managing something stupid like small talk. 

Finally, finally he managed, “I’d like to fix whatever we fucked up.” 

Steve blinked at him like he didn’t understand the premise. “What do you think we fucked up?” 

“Steve, you… I…”

Well, this was going great. 

“You didn’t like what we did,” he finally managed. God, he hated talking about this. 

Steve shut down a little. “Buck, I love you and I love being with you, but… that’s… it’s off limits. There are some things that I just can’t talk about, especially not to you.” 

Especially not to him? What? “Steve, if there’s something I shouldn’t be doing, I need to kn-“

“It wasn’t you, okay?” Steve snapped. Then he took a breath. “Sorry, I’m not angry with you, Bucky. This is just… I can’t explain, but it’s a real touchy subject for me. Can we just forget about it?” 

Bucky frowned. He was pretty sure this was the last thing he should leave alone, but he was also really sure Steve wasn’t going to budge- and Bucky couldn’t bear the thought of pissing Steve off to the point of not talking to him, which was probably going to be the result of him pushing. So he slipped his hand over the gear shift and into Steve’s. “I’m sorry,” he told the blond quietly. “I just really want to be sure you’re okay.” 

Steve squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry about me, Buck. Really. Just… we can’t switch again, okay?” 

Bucky nodded, though it was almost physically painful to agree to something like that. He’d literally just been fantasizing about it in the middle of sex and then it had almost happened. Unless Steve just meant… “Do you- do you mean with you inside me or, um.” He cleared his throat. “ _Switching._ ”

Steve cupped Bucky’s face and gave him a sweet, slow kiss. “You don’t ever have to worry about me hurting you, Bucky,” he replied, and Bucky felt a new kind of shame. Steve thought this was about what HYDRA had done to him, that maybe Bucky was afraid Steve might hurt him like that too. “I’m never, never gonna hurt you if I can help it. Not ever again.” 

Bucky took Steve’s hand from his face and kissed it. “You haven’t hurt me yet,” Bucky assured him. 

“Bucky-“ Steve warned. 

“Listen to me, Stevie,” he said seriously. “You don’t get to decide if I’m hurt, okay? I’m the only one that knows that. And that- that did _not_ hurt. I really liked it.” 

Steve’s eyes darkened and he pulled away, looking out the window and away from Bucky. 

Shit. 

He struggled to break the silence again, but he didn’t know what else to say and somehow couldn’t bring himself to admit that he wished Steve _would_ hurt him, just a little. He didn’t think he could handle that conversation right now. So they spent the remaining several hours in complete silence, without touching. 

Sam either hadn’t seen the footage or had the same opinion as Steve did because he didn’t treat either of them any differently. “Just make sure you find somewhere else for your alone time, because I only got the one extra set of sheets and my momma sleeps on that bed when she’s in town.” 

Bucky snorted while Steve turned bright red. Bucky was used to Sam’s humor. He hoped Steve would get there too. Sam had probably saved his life, after all. 

Speaking of saving his life, Sam had ordered from Bucky’s favorite pizza place and was willing to sit through Star Trek with them. He had a lot of opinions about Deep Space Nine and how it was the first show not only to feature a non-white captain, but to mostly take place in one spot and have the aliens come to the Federation. Bucky had not thought about that second part before. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he was drawn to Bashir. Bashir was a doctor. By all rights, Bucky should hate him, but Bucky liked the doctors on Star Trek. They were all so… nice. They knew what they were doing. They had all of this future knowledge, so they didn’t need to experiment on their patients. Even better, most of their doctoring didn’t even involve touching the patient at all. It was truly a paradise. 

Steve cuddled into him halfway through the episode and, by the time the credits were rolling, was asleep. 

“Man, you two really are that cute, aren’t you?” Sam asked. “I thought those videos were just for show.” 

Bucky bristled and would have thrown back an insult if Steve wasn’t currently sleeping on his chest. “If you film us-“

“Hey, man, I don’t want picket lines outside my house. The second I post video of you two cuddled up on my couch, I’m getting picket lines. I don’t need that.” 

Bucky relaxed a little. “Good. I’m tired of being public property,” he grumbled, “and even more tired of dragging Steve into it.” 

Sam nodded. “I’m thinking it’s past my bed time,” he admitted. “And way past yours. We’re going to talk about this tomorrow, alright? You can sleep on the couch, just don’t defile it or anything.” 

Bucky nodded silently in response, subconsciously resting his nose in Steve’s hair, which only earned him another disbelieving scoff from Sam. Bucky only smiled. He was glad Sam had taken them in, and it was obvious his disgust was feigned. Sam was one of the few people in Bucky’s life that he had no doubts over. Sam was a truly good person, invested in the people he helped. He deserved their help in return, though Bucky wasn’t quite sure what Sam Wilson could possibly need help with. He was the most stable, put together person Bucky knew. 

He gave Steve’s should a gentle squeeze. “Stevie?” 

“Mm.” 

“Let’s go sleep in the real bed, huh?” 

“Mm.” 

Bucky kissed his head and pulled away a little. “Come on, pal, it’s been a long day and we gotta find work tomorrow. Can’t stay in Sam’s guest room too long.” 

“Mm,” Steve repeated, but he was dragging himself away now. 

They leaned on each other all the way back to the room and, in spite of the uncertainty, he felt certain that Steve’s promise of everything working out would come true. 


End file.
